


Lone Wolves Dancing

by Ileji



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, F/M, Romance, Skyrim Romance Mod
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 06:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 73
Words: 236,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18360482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ileji/pseuds/Ileji
Summary: Ylva was a proud warrior, sworn to Skyrim and her people, but she never would have imagined it meaning any more than fighting bandits or killing the beasts of the wild. With the destiny in her blood revealed she is set on a path all Bards in Skyrim will sing for ages to come.But not just Dragons and Deardra will change her life forever - a fateful meeting in a small town will quickly turn this lone wolf's life around...





	1. Prologue

'Not again', thought Ylva as she heard the roar of a dragon in the distance as she entered the little town of Riverwood. It was the second one that day and her muscles were still sore from the first one. Were they now coming in batches? She had just wanted to sell some of her potions in the Riverwood Trader and get back home. Sighing she took out her bow and joined the Guards as scared townsfolk ran past her for cover.

"Everybody calm down!", she shouted, eyes fixed on the dragon that just landed on the roof of the Alvor's house. "I will take care of it."

The dragon inhaled deeply, its gaze fixed on her: "FO KRAH DIIN!"

She barely dodged the blizzard aimed at her and answered the only way the dragon would understand: "YOL TOOR!"

The beast screeched as the flames licked at its scales and set off flying.

"Oh no, you will not get away, you bastard!", the fierce warrior aimed at its wings, ripping holes through the leathery skin. The dragon came down next to Gerdur's mill, turning to face two guards that came running towards it. She did not let the moment of distraction go to waste. Throwing her bow to the ground she grabbed her two axes hanging on either side of her hip. With a short sprint she was at its side, its flank exposed and ready for her.  
"SU!", left her lips and she felt the inhuman speed with which her axes tore the scaly skin of the beast apart.

The dragon couldn't react fast enough and with a final screech, the life went out of its body. Panting heavily Ylva knelt beside it, trying to gather a few drops of its blood before its body burned away as its soul was drawn into her.

"Dragonborn." The guards and the townsfolk looked at her in awe as the last bits of golden shimmer brazed her skin. She shook herself slightly, trying to get rid of the lightheadedness she always felt after a fight. Deep inside her, she could feel the soul of the slain dragon – raw, could power as if born from a blizzard. It became her strength, joined with the souls of his brethren that had already fallen to her blade. Looking at the bony remains of the slain lizard, she bowed respectfully and breathed fire. "YOL." The bones would burn a long time, but at least none of the bandits and townsfolk would be tempted to mess with them.

It took her a moment to realize that people were still staring at her. She smiled shyly and gave them a friendly nod. 'Why do they always have to stare?', she wondered as she went looking for her bow.

She found it still laying on the ground where she had thrown it before. Picking it up her gaze wandered over to the inn. 'Screw it, Lucan can wait till morning, I need a drink.'

Just as she had reached the top of the stairs the door sprang open and two drunkards stormed outside, almost running into her.

"Where's the dragon?", the larger of the two slurred, looking around, "I wanna fight me a dragon!"

"The dragon's dead, don't waste your breath", Ylva pushed past them, wrinkling her nose at the stinky breath of the man closest to her.

"Oi, oi, what's that beauty I see?", the other drunkard whistled through his teeth.

Shaking her head, she left them standing, ignoring their further remarks. After the day she had, she didn't care for company anyway. With her mind set on some of Ognar's good mead, she nearly ran into another man. What on Nirn was wrong today? Looking up, she saw that his honey eyes were fixed on her. 'By Talos, I hope he leaves me alone', she cursed internally. But of course, he didn't.

"So, you're someone who doesn't lip wrestle", he remarked, blocking her way.

"What's that supposed to mean?", she shot at him, annoyed.

"Didn't those two shout loud enough at your back or do you carry your nose so high that you ignore everything a guy says to you."

Ylva blinked surprised. Was he talking about those two drunkards?

"If you mean the two drunk idiots that nearly ran into me, they did shout loud enough, but I didn't listen", she huffed, "Now, if you wouldn't mind, I just want to get a pint of mead and you're in my way."

He chuckled at her, bemusement sparkling in his eyes. In a theatric gesture, he moved to the side.  
"After you, princess", he said. She pushed past him happy to be rid of his presence, thinking he would leave her alone. She thought wrong. When she sat at the bar and signaled Ognar for a pint he sat down next to her.

"What do you want?", she growled at him angrily. 'Doesn't he know when to leave someone alone?'

"Saving a beautiful woman from having the dullest of nights." He looked at her from the corners of his eyes. "Besides, you strike me as a strong fighter. So maybe you can help me."

'Of course,' she rolled her eyes, 'Everybody just wants my help.' But she brushed her annoyance aside and turned to him. It was her duty, after all, to help the people who needed her. Akatosh hadn't bestowed her this gift just to use it for herself. The dragon blood running through her veins bound her to Skyrim and her people.

"Out with it, what do you need help with?", she asked with a friendlier tone.

"My wolf Karnwyr. We got separated a week ago while hunting", his voice faltered at that bit, "I tracked him to a group of trappers this side of Skyrim. I heard of a group of bandits running a pit fighting ring. I would go alone, but if they're running a ring there's probably more than just a few bandits. If you would come along, I wouldn't complain about my odds, I could certainly do worse for company."

Pit fights. Her jaw clenched. He didn't have to say anything else. She took a large gulp of mead and nodded as the sweat taste ran down her throat.

"I'll help you get your wolf back," She locked her eyes with his, "Under one condition. Don't you dare think you can order me around or anything."

That earned her another chuckle. He grinned at her. "Good, and the same goes for you. I'm not some lackey you can order around. We set out now."

"We set out tomorrow", she stated in a tone that didn't allow any opposition, "I've heard of pit fights going on in the Rift. It's at least a day's trip from here and I will not cross the mountain pass at night. Especially after just having fought a dragon. I'll see you at dusk."

With that, she left him at the bar and went home to Riverside Lodge. She needed to sleep in her own comfy bed – not some tavern bed with bedbugs and what not. Besides, she didn't want any company that night. The two dragons she fought that they made her feel restless as she got accustomed to the feeling of their souls within her.

Riverside Lodge lay just around a Riverbend next to a small waterfall. From the porch, she could easily overlook the plains of Whiterun. The lights were bright and warm against the dark blue night sky. She took in the sight before entering her home. There were still some embers glowing in the hearth. She kicked off her boots, putting a log or two in the fire and watched as they were quickly set ablaze. It had been a long day.  
"And tomorrow's going to be just as long", she sighed to herself, thinking of the Nord she was going to meet in the morning.


	2. Wolves and Bandits

He was already awake when she came back to Riverwood as the first rays of sunlight colored the sky in a pinkish hue.

"What took you so long?", he asked impatiently, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I said dusk. Besides, I wouldn't want to go leave without having some supplies", she answered as she strode past him, "Come on if we hurry we will be there by nightfall."

"One more thing princess. Before you try to pet him or get him to lick your hand, Karnwyr is not a pet", he said, catching up with her.

"If he's so important to you how did you lose him in the first place?", she was agitated by his manners. 'Talos guide me. This is going to be a very long day.'

"That's a private matter." His eyes went dark as his expression changed into a scowl. She thought it best to change the subject.

"What's your name?", she asked and when he looked at her startled she added, "You haven't given it to me yesterday and when we are going to travel the whole day at least I want to know who I'm traveling with."

"The name's Bishop", he answered.

"An unusual name for a Nord", she observed, "I'm Ylva."

"Let's just say my parents hadn't had a good hand at choosing names", he said, that same dark shadow running over his face as before. Whatever happened between him and his parents, it had left him with bad memories.

"A name's a name, nothing more. It doesn't have to define you", she remarked and moved forward, him falling behind.

They were close to Helgen, she could taste the smoke of the fires in the air as they came closer to the ruined town. How long has it been since she saw that big black demon of a dragon fly away from there? Nothing more than a week. Since then her life had changed drastically.

"What's the hurry all of a sudden?", Bishop complained from behind, trying to keep up with her.

Ylva ignored him and walked even faster, meaning to pass by the town as quickly as possible. He caught up with her when she took the small path going around the town and one look of her was enough to shut him up. She was in no mood for talking.

They traveled in silence for a time, each looking out for protentional danger. Ever since the Stormcloak rising had begun bandits have been a problem. More than once Ylva had been asked to clear out a bandit camp. Sometimes she even felt that there were more bandits about then people living in the towns and cities of Skyrim.

As they climbed higher up the mountain path the wind became gradually stronger and snow started to fall.

"We need to hurry", she turned to her companion, "Looks like there is a snow blizzard coming our way."

"Great", Bishop muttered, "If it gets any colder I won't be able to hold on to a weapon anymore. My fingers are getting numb."

"With any luck, you won't need to", she said.

Ylva draped her thick fur cloak more closely around her figure to fight off the cold and continued walking. Her heavy armor protected her from fatal blows, but it didn't do much for her in a blizzard. She kept walking and bend forward against the wind.

They managed to get to the border between Falkreach and the Rift about an hour later. The blizzard was still going strong. As they came closer Ylva was relieved to see a fire burning in one of the small stone buildings guarding the border point. She went into the building and crouched down close to the fire to thaw her freezing fingers.

"Ah, that feels wonderful", she sighed relieved.

"Just what I need", Bishop agreed as he crouched next to her. He was shaking quite badly, and his lips were blue.

"Don't you have a coat or something?", she asked him.

"I'm a Nord, I don't need coats to fight off the cold. I've been living in the wilds of Skyrim long enough", he shot at her defensively.

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I'm a Nord too if you haven't noticed and I rather have a coat then freezing my ass off", sighing Ylva opened her backpack and drew out a fur coat she kept as a backup. "Here, take this."

"Didn't you hear what I just said, woman? I don't need it."

"I will not stop every other hour so that you can warm your hands at a fire. It is still a long way ahead. Put it on, will you?"

Her tone didn't allow any objection. Muttering under his breath he accepted her offer and threw the coat over his shoulders. Nodding satisfied she reached into her bag once more to get some food.

"It's close to noon now, might as well eat something", she said and offered him some troll jerky and a piece of bread, "If we would have the time I'd cook something, but I understand that you want to get your wolf back as soon as possible."

He nodded in acknowledgment and took some troll jerky from her. "Where exactly do you think this pit fighting ring is and how long will it take us to get there?"

"It's in a cave on the way between Shore's Stone and Kynesgrove. The place is called Cragslane Cavern. Have you heard of it?"

"I have. But I haven't heard of pit fighting going on there. It's a skooma den as far as I know."

"One more reason to clear it out."

"Bad experience with the stuff?", he asked.

"No, not personal anyway. I just hate what it does to people. If I get the chance to root out at least part of the problem I gladly will do so."

Bishop looked at her and for a moment she thought he wanted to say something, but he cleared his throat and his scowl returned.

"Might as well get to it then."

They followed the road around Lake Geir and crossed over at Treva's Watch. After that, they abandoned the road and continued through the woods. By nightfall, they reached Shores Stone.

"We can stop here and rest if you want or we can continue to the cave", Ylva stopped and turned to her companion, "I would suggest resting and regaining our strength, but attacking during the dark may get us the advantage of surprise."

"Are you tired Ladyship?", he said mockingly, "Do you need to rest your feet? I can certainly go all night, I'm not tired at all."

He gave her a wolfish smile, that both annoyed and amused her.

"All right ranger. I'm no milk drinker and I am certainly up for killing some bandits."

The thrill of the nearing battle made her heart pound. She could see that the ranger felt the same way as his yellow eyes gleamed with excitement.

When they finally reached the cave about an hour later they stayed low to not attract attention to early. There was a scout positioned out front by the cave entrance and to cages with ice wolves close to a fire. Ylva silently motioned to Bishop to take his place on the rocky ledge above the cave. One of the wolves caught her sent and turned to face her. She looked into its honey eyes, threatening it to stay silent. Feeling that she meant no harm it lay flat on its stomach, watching her with interest as she crept closer to get a better shot.

Maybe it was the movement of the wolf or some sound her armor had made while shifting, but something alerted the scout and he left his position coming towards her hiding place. Cursing under her breath she drew her bow back and fired an arrow that pierced the scout's leg. Another one hit him in the throat before he could alarm his friends.

Looking up towards the ledge she could see Bishop looking at her mockingly. She shrugged apologetically signaling him to come down to her. Together they quietly slipped inside the cave.

Inside was another Dunmer guard, leaning on a doorway to a tunnel going deeper. Bishop took him out quickly with another arrow. Ylva went into the tunnel first, careful of every step to not make a sound.

On the other side of the tunnel, right next to a doorway to a greater opening in the cave, was another cage with a wolf. The wolf was sitting upright with ears turned towards them curiously and tail wiggling crazily. It clearly was more than happy to see them.

"You must be Karnwyr", she whispered, "Wait a moment till I've opened the lock."

The lock was easily picked and once the cage was open the wolf leaped towards Bishop, almost throwing him over.

"There you are you mutt! What did you think getting yourself caught so that I had to track you down", he said, petting his friend, "Let's play your favorite game, I shoot an arrow in one of these bastard's knees and you can go rip his face off!"

Ylva had watched the scene with a smile on her face, but now she noticed the sounds coming from the opening. From what she could hear there were people down there, cheering and screaming at the fight going on in the pit. Signaling Bishop and Karnwyr to follow she tried to get a better look.

About half a dozen people were gathered down below around a small pit in the middle of the cave with two wolves fighting for their lives. She readied her bow. From the corner of her eye, she could see her companion doing the same thing.

As the first arrows hit their target two of the bandits fell to the ground lifeless. Chaos broke out in the cave as Karnwyr lunged at another chewing off his face as he screamed in pain. Ylva abandoned her bow and reached for her axes fighting of two bandits. Bishops arrow pierced another one coming her way.

One of her attackers found a way through her defense. The hot burn of a cut on her cheek was quickly followed by the warm wet feeling of blood dripping down her face.

"Big mistake", she growled at the bandit that grinned cockily at her, "SU!"

She could see the slow realization on the bandit's face just before her axes ripped open his skull. Two other men fell to the momentum of the Elemental Fury, their blood dripping off her axes and her armor. Panting heavily, she looked around only to see that Karnwyr and Bishop had taken care of the other remaining two and also the wolves it the pit. Bishop looked her over critically.

"You look like you bathed in blood", he remarked, putting his bow on his pack. She whipped her face with her hand and saw the red slickness on her gauntlet.

"I need a bath, I'll admit. But first, let's clean up this mess."

They found a large batch of skooma in one of the rooms that Ylva quickly burned. In another room were more cages with wolves. With a key she had picked up from one of the corpses, she opened their cages.

"What are you doing?", asked Bishop irritated.

"Freeing the wolves, or what does it look like?", she answered unlocking the cage doors. The wolves growled threateningly as the doors opened. Ylva held out her hands to let them smell her. Hesitantly the beasts sniffed her hands and calmed down.

"There, there. No need to growl at me. Now enjoy your freedom you two", she ruffled through their black furs as they made their way past her and out of the cave. She turned to face Bishop and Karnwyr, both watching her with keen interest.

"What?", she asked them, "They would have starved if I hadn't let them out."

"I have never seen wolves, especially pit wolves, so easily calmed down. What did you do to them?"

"Let's just say I have a way with wolves", she smiled mysteriously at him, "By the way, don't you want to check on your wolf to see if he's all right?"

"I'd rather check on that vicious cut on your cheek, Ladyship. If you leave it at that you will get a scar."

Involuntarily she touched the wound again, wincing as pain shot through her. Looking around she found a silver plate on one of the tables. She picked it up and examined the cut in the reflection.

The blade had just missed her right eye and went in a straight line down to just above her upper lip. It wasn't very deep, but the blade had been dirty. Looking in the make-do mirror she could also see that what Bishop said earlier was true: She certainly looked like she took a bloody shower and her war paint was smudged in some areas.

"I look like a mess", she exclaimed and lowered the plate. She rummaged through one of her pouches fixed to her belt and drew out a vial with healing potion.

"Let me help you." Bishop had come up to her and offered her a somewhat clean cloth.

Ylva was taken by surprise. She simply smiled thankfully and took the offered cloth. She soaked the cloth with some water from her waterskin and wiped her face with the wet cloth. She winced every time she touched the cut but didn't make a sound. Due to the rubbing, the cut began to bleed again slightly.

"You're not doing it properly", Bishop took the waterskin out of her hands and forced her to tilt her head to the left side. She stubbornly tried to resist, but the fatigue of battle had caught up with her and she was too tired to put up much of a fight. Gleaming satisfied at her he drew the cut open with one hand and let the water run over it with the other, washing out the remaining dirt. It hurt so badly she couldn't help but groan. The ranger took the vial from her and spread the contents over her cut. She could feel the warm soothing feeling of the healing potion taking effect. Turning away from him she took up the plate and inspected the healing process. The cut was gone, only a slightly pink line remained which would fade in a couple of hours.

"I didn't need your help but still, thank you", she thanked him.

"Well, you helped me get Karnwyr back, so thank you", he said.

She smiled at him. "Come on, let's find a place to rest for the night."


	3. Ivarstead

 

They set up camp halfway between Cragslane Cavern and Shores Stone close to the road. Bishop set up a tent while she built a Campfire with branches. Soon she got a nice fire going. Bishop rested on a tree stump, running his hands through Karnwyr's fur, and watched her as she set up her cooking pot to cook them dinner. With Karnwyr safe he needed to think about what to do next. He didn't want to go back to tracking for nobles and he quite liked a bit of adventure. Thinking back to the events of the day he had to admit it had been quite fun to travel with the Nord warrior. She was skilled in battle but talking to her he discovered a smart and witty mind as well.   
Now she was busing herself with peeling potatoes for the stew she was cooking. The fire shone on her pale skin. Without the magenta war paint covering her face, he could see some scars on her left side of her face. A beast with sharp claws must have once torn the skin of her left temple quite some time ago. He wondered how old had she been when it happened. She looked younger than himself, he guessed her to be around 23 winters.

"Do I have something on my face? I thought I cleaned up everything", her hazel eyes glowered angrily at him.

"I was just thinking about the day. You were quite impressive, I didn't think a woman like you had it in her."

"I have all sorts of talents, Bishop", she replied grinning.

Bishop chuckled, "Well, in that case, I've decided to join you. Who knows what kind of trouble we can get ourselves into."

Now Ylva chuckled while she dropped the chopped potatoes in the stew alongside some carrots.

"Yeah, I will get you in all kinds of trouble."

"I'm looking forward to that", he grinned broadly. Her chuckle turned into a full-hearted laughter.

"I bet. But don't complain to me about dragons attacking you. They seem to be drawn to me a lot."

He wasn't sure if she was still joking or not. Though her full lips were curled in a playful smile her eyes had darkened. Ylva shifted awkwardly under his gaze. She hated being watched – it made her extremely self-conscious and uncomfortable.

"So, what's your story ranger?", she asked, more to distract herself than anything else.

"Why the sudden interest?" Bishop looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Why the sudden suspicion?", she replied, her gaze fixed on his face.

"Because no one asks me anything without expecting something in return." He considered for a moment and then sighed.

"Bah, fine. Why did I become a ranger? Why anyone else sells themselves. I was raised with the skills. The only difference was that I was taught them to survive, not for profit. Not an honest type of profit anyway. I started tracking seven years before we met. Word got around that I could hunt game for fat lazy nobles and track runaways. They had money, so I became their ranger", he bent forward, "What about the illustrious woman before me? You're so nosy about my life."

"I was born in Skyrim and lived here all my life. It wasn't a peaceful life, I've been raised a warrior, sworn to Skyrim and her people."

She stopped stirring the stew for a moment and looked up towards the sky.

"A week ago I was on a job close to Helgen. I had just cleared out a den of trolls when I heard the screaming and saw the smoke in the air. When I got there I only saw a pitch-black dragon flying away", she shook slightly at the memory. Corpses burnt beyond recognition. Houses burnt down to ruins.

It took a moment before she could continue. "I immediately got on my way to Riverwood and from there I rushed to warn Jarl Balgruuf. Just as I talked to him and the court wizard there came a guard warning of a Dragon attacking the Western Watch Tower. They asked me to help in the fighting. We managed to kill the dragon. But when I got closer to it its flesh started burning away and some sort of power was drawn into me. It is a really weird feeling drawing a soul into you, you know?", she shot a glance at Bishop, hesitating to speak the next words.

"Turns out I am Dragonborn, born with the soul of a dragon. Now everybody wants a piece of me, first of all, the Greybeards. That's where we headed to next, by the way."

"You mean climbing all the way up to that monastery? Are you kidding me?"

"Having second thoughts about coming with me, are you now?", she teased him.

"No, I just never thought about going up there, that's all", he replied.

"Trust me, me neither. But the Greybeards _called_ me. I bet even the people of Solitude could hear that call. I didn't want to go straight away but now that we're not so far from Ivarstead I think I should. Honor demands it after all."

She looked like she dreaded going up that mountain, Bishop thought to himself, or maybe she dreaded what she would find at its peak.

"If you don't want to you don't have to", he said.

"Are you kidding? Being called upon the Greybeards is an honor only a few individuals were granted. Honor is very important to me, refusing is not an option. Besides, the Greybeards are able to kill you with just whispering a single word."

With a look at herself, she added, "Maybe a stop at the Vilemyr Inn wouldn't hurt. I need a bath. Anyways, the stew is ready."

They ate quietly and rested soon thereafter. With the first light of day they woke and continued on their way to Ivarstead and reached the town a couple hours later.

 

 

 

 

Ylva opened the door to the Inn and smiled at the innkeeper.

"Hello Wilhelm", she greeted him.

"Ylva, glad to see you! What in Oblivion happened to you?", he replied, looking her over.

"Just some bandits that were eager to meet my axes, don't worry. Would you mind heating up some water for a bath?"

"Sure. Are you going to stay the night?", he asked.

"Yes. I need two rooms for the night."

"Lucky for you I have two rooms to spare. The usual payment?"

"Why not. Just get me some time to clean up and eat something and I'll be your servant."

At hearing this Bishop coughed and looked at her puzzled.

"Wonderful, I'll get the word out. The bath will be ready in an hour or so", the innkeeper said as he fetched the kettle from the hearth.

"What exactly is the _usual payment_?", Bishop let himself drop on one of the chairs after Wilhelm left the room.

"Oh, I'm sure you'd love to find out", Ylva smiled at him winking, "Don't worry, you will soon enough. Do you want to rest here for a bit? I'm going to wash off the blood in the river."

The ranger was left alone with Karnwyr scratching his head. _I'll be your servant_ she had said to that innkeeper. He couldn't imagine she would go around waiting the tables for a room to sleep in. Another idea crossed his mind. Maybe she was a follower of Dibella? But if she was, surely, she would have offered _him_ some services as well?

He was still pondering the question when Ylva returned a half an hour later. She had shed her armor outside, only wearing a linen shirt and breeches. She dropped the dripping armor on the floor by the fire.

"Dried blood is a really nasty thing to get off", she remarked.

It was the first time Bishop had seen her in anything else than her armor. She had long well-built legs that were topped with a nice round butt he got to admire as she bent over to arrange the armor to dry off faster. Her back was broader and more muscular than most women he had seen, likely a result of hard training from a young age on. Her arms were covered in some sort of tribal tattoo. She radiated an aura of strength that was strangely appealing.

"Did your Mama never tell you to keep your eyes to yourself?", she had noticed his eyes on her and turned around, "I don't like being ogled."

He threw his hands up defensively, a cocky grin playing around the corners of his mouth. "I can't help to look. You're the most interesting thing in this tavern."

A disgruntled look appeared on her face, but she decided to let the matter pass. "I will go through my stuff to see if the supplies are enough for tomorrow."

She turned around and went into the small room she had claimed for herself. The door slammed shut with an audible thud. Bishop wondered what had gotten into her. He hadn't meant to get under her skin. Absentmindedly he patted Karnwyr's head on his lap.

Ylva was still in thoughts as Wilhelm came in and announced that the tub was ready for her. Thanking him she took out some spare clothes from her pack and some soap and went to a small private room at the back of the tavern. The hot water was like a balm to her sore muscles and bruised skin.

As she soaked in the water her mind trailed back to the conversation before. Why had she been so on edge? It wasn't like she wasn't used to traveling together with others. Or was it the looming shadow of tomorrow? She dreaded going up to the monastery. It meant acknowledging the fact that her destiny was bound, that she wasn't as free as she wanted to be. Sure, serving Skyrim had always been her fate from the day she was born. But discovering to be the savior Skyrim had waited for? She knew the stories and she knew the prophecy, she had heard and sung the song often enough herself.

"Dragonborn, Dragonborn by his honor is sworn to keep evil forever at bay", she hummed to herself. Not for the first time she wondered what her parents would have thought if they'd known they had given life to the potential savior of Skyrim, the one that had to face Alduin at the end of time.

In an attempt to clear her thoughts, she washed her hair, rubbing her head roughly and got out. With the help of a small looking-glass, she put on her trademark magenta war paint, covering her scars. Dressed in a simple blue wool dress she stepped out of the bathing room, her wet hair hanging freely over her back and spilling over her shoulders.

Bishop was still sitting at the table and seeing the plates and cups he had used his time to eat something. Ylva sat down on the chair across from him.

"If you want to take a bath, the water is still warm", she suggested with a warm smile. She wanted to make amends for being so nasty earlier.

The ranger looked up from Karnwyr and the words stuck in his throat when he saw her. The dress she wore was simple, but it fit her perfectly, showing off the feminine side of her body. Remembering her earlier reaction, he quickly broke loose from the view and simply nodded.

"Thanks, I might as well", he got up and disappeared in the room with the tub. Ylva's gaze followed him puzzled.

The inn had started to fill with the residents of the small town and soon she was busy greeting people. She was on the lookout for one person in particular and was happy when she finally saw her.

"Lynly, happy to see you again", she greeted the blond woman, "Can I borrow your lute? I travel with a small pack and haven't brought mine with me."

"Of course!", Lynly went behind the bar and grabbed the instrument, "I'm happy if I can lend it to you."

Ylva hugged the other woman. "Thank you, I will return it when I'm done."

Wilhelm saw her and looked at her questioningly. "Ready to start?"

She quickly nodded and came to stand in front of the bar, so everybody could see her. Her fingers tested the lute, finding a chord and striking it. With the first sound of the lute, everybody went quiet inside the inn.

Ylva decided to start with an instrumental piece and began to play. Music filled the room, the upbeat rhythm of the song lifting hearts and spirits, even her own. She loved this about music, it put her mind at ease, letting her forget her dark thoughts for a moment.

Bishop heard the music when he was getting out of the tub and stood still. Whoever was playing had talent and he had his suspicions who it was that was playing the lute. He quickly dressed and came back into the inn, just as Ylva was nearing the end of the first song. She had her eyes closed and swayed with the melody as she was playing, a smile lighted up her face. Transfixed he stood in the doorway. If he hadn't seen her in armor he would have never believed the beautiful musician being a fierce warrior. So _that_ was how she wanted to pay for their rooms, playing the lute and entertaining.

Ylva's eyes opened as she played the last note of the song. She looked straight at Bishop, their eyes meeting for a moment until she shied away. The people in the inn clapped appreciatively.

"Another one! Another one!", they cheered. "Sing us about Ragnar!", came another voice.

Ylva nodded, hit the first chord and began to sing: "Oh there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red..."

She had a clear and strong singing voice that was wonderful to listen to, better than any female bard Bishop had ever heard sing. He understood now, why every last person in Ivarstead had come to see her perform. The tiny inn was so crowded, that there wasn't any place to sit anymore. Well, almost, he corrected himself as he saw his spot at the table was still waiting for him. Karnwyr's presence seemed to have saved him a front row seat for the performance. He quickly made his way over and sat down, patting Karnwyr to thank him.

Ylva played song after song, her fingers dancing over the strings, bringing forth beautiful music. She took requests but also played songs of her own whim. The songs she played were cheerful and upbeat, with some slower instrumental once in between so that people had time to get themselves something to drink. That was the trick with performing in inns – she wanted them to get into their cups. The profits of the evening would pay her bed and maybe she would get a share of the tips when she was done.

"Please play us the song of the Dragonborn!", a voice demanded. She froze. After she found out about the destiny in her blood she had been avoiding playing that song. But more and more people joined in. Within a moment the whole inn requested the song.

"All right, but this will be the last song", she sighed and hoped, she would not falter.

"Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn,  
to keep evil forever at bay.  
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumphs shout,  
Dragonborn for your blessing we pray!

Harken now sons of snow, to an age, long ago,  
and a tale, boldly told of the one!  
Who was kin to both wyrm and the races of man,  
with a power to rival the sun!

And the Voice, he did wield, on that glorious field  
when great Tamriel shuddered with war!  
Mighty Thu'um like a blade cut through enemies all,  
as the Dragonborn issued his roar!

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn,  
to keep evil forever at bay.  
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumphs shout,  
Dragonborn for your blessing we pray!

And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold,  
that when brothers wage war come unfurled!  
Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,  
with a hunger to swallow the world!"

The tone of her voice shifted, she sounded pleading, even desperate Bishop thought. As he realized the meaning of her words he remembered what she had told him the day before – she had _seen Alduin_. The hairs of on the back of his neck stood out.

"But a day shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies,  
shall be silenced forever and then!  
Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw!  
Dragonborn be the savior of men!

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn,  
to keep evil forever at bay.  
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumphs shout,  
Dragonborn for your blessing we pray!"

While the rest of the people clapped and cheered loudly he sat still as if struck. She was the Dragonborn – she was the savior of prophecy. He now understood why she dreaded going up that mountain. Going up, revealing herself to the Greybeards, meant facing the prophecy – it meant facing Alduin.

Ylva thanked the crowd, returned the lute and came over to him. He offered her a pint that she accepted and emptied in one go.

"Thanks, I was close to dying of thirst", she dropped in the chair. The inn was already beginning to empty.

"You sing beautifully", he admitted, not wanting to bring up the revelation of the last song. "Where did you learn to play?"

She blushed lightly and signaled Wilhelm for another round.

"My dad used to sing with me when I was little", she smiled at the memory, "He taught me to play the lute as well."

Seeing her expression Bishop remarked: "Your father must mean a lot to you."

Ylva nodded. "I loved him and still miss him, even though he died years ago."

"How did he die?"

"He was a Captain of the Legion and was assigned with overseeing the training of the new recruits. They were ambushed by Stormcloaks as he led his latest group on a scout mission. No one survived", she didn't want to talk about her parents as it pained her, so she quickly changed the subject, "So, are you ready to go hiking in the morning?"

She still intended to go, he thought. He had to admire her courage. Would he do the same if he were in her shoes? Probably not – the world could end and he wouldn't care.

"Well, I always wondered what's up at the Throat of the World", he shrugged, "We mind as well find out tomorrow."


	4. Greybeards

 

They got up early the next morning. The way up the 7000 Steps was long and if possible, they wanted to avoid setting up camp before reaching High Hrothgar. For a long time, they traveled in silence, each taking to their own thoughts. Ylva tried to prepare herself for the encounter. What would be revealed to her? Would they prepare her for the battle with Alduin, give her powerful weapons to defeat the beast she saw at Helgen? Or would they send her away, disappointed seeing the Dragonborn was a woman, afraid of her fate?

Bishop, on the other hand, was still digesting the revelation from the day before. He had known she was Dragonborn when he decided to go with her, had known it from the moment he first laid eyes on her. He could care less about saving Skyrim, so maybe he should leave her to her fate? Still, she was fun to travel with and it certainly wouldn't get boring adventuring with her. He was sick of tracking for noblemen and he thirsted for some adventure. After seeing her yesterday he wasn't sure just how much adventure he craved. The curves now hidden by her steel armor had stirred his thrill for the chase. And as long as Alduin stayed wherever he was right now he might not have to worry too much. So maybe he would just stick around a little longer?

 

On their way up, they met some frost spiders and the occasional ice wraith, but not something the two of them couldn't handle. It was past midday when they sat up a small camp to warm up and eat. Ylva couldn't bear being left with her thoughts anymore and started a conversation. "How much longer do you think it is?"

Bishop looked up from his small pile of twigs he was just trying to light up.

"I don't know, I haven't been counting the steps", he answered. He tried to light a spark again, but the strong winds on the mountain made his effort futile.

"Ugh, to Oblivion with it!", he threw the flint on the ground in frustration, "With this damned wind it's impossible to light a fire!"

"Let me try", Ylva was bowing over the pile and whispered, "YOL."

Her breath was fire and the twigs lit up instantly. Grinning she looked at the ranger. "There you go."

"Why didn't you do that sooner?", he shot at her annoyed.

"You looked so determined. I didn't want to disturb you", she shrugged apologetically.

"I've been trying to light the fire for minutes while you just watched", he was clearly pissed off.

"What's the deal? We have a fire now, so either come here and heat up or freeze your ass off over there - your choice." So much for trying to make conversation, she thought to herself.

"I don't like being made a fool", he growled crossing his arms defensively. He made no move to come closer to the fire.

"This whole Dragonborn business is still new to me", she defended herself, "The things I can do don't come to me naturally. So excuse me if I haven't thought about it straight away."

Her words finally seemed to have persuaded him. "All right", he sat down across from her, "But next time you take care of the fire from the start."

That being settled they both relaxed as they enjoyed the warmth. Karnwyr came over and nestled his head in her lap. Smiling down at him she scratched him between the ears.

"Your wolf Karnwyr is really sweet", she said.

"He likes you. You know why?" Amber eyes watched her and she shook her head. "You're not afraid of him like the others."

"Once you understand an animal you don't need to be afraid of it", she answered, avoiding his gaze. She didn't want him to know just _how much_ she understood.

"See, and that's why you and he understand each other. You understand what he is, what he does. But most importantly – and that is the most important - you understand what he's capable of doing."

"When did you get him?", she finally looked up, her hand continuing to scratch.

"I got him when I was just a boy. We survived together, we hunted together. Someday we'll die together and that suits me just fine."

"You think you will die in battle then?"

"Better than to live so long that you'll grow soft in the head", he remarked, "How about you?"

"A glorious death in battle is the most honorable death any true warrior could wish for", she said without hesitation, "But I do hope that the day I fall to my enemies' blades is still far, far away."

That brought the dark thoughts back to her mind. Would it really be that far away? Would she be the last of her line? She sure hoped not – there were so many things left in the world she wanted to see, to do.

"I'm sure your end won't come that soon", Bishop's voice brought her back to the here and now.

She was surprised he could read her that easily. But then again, she had a nagging feeling at the back of her head. He had been as quiet and edgy as she had been the whole day so far. Looking at him now he didn't seem so troubled anymore. Had he cleared up his mind about whatever had been bothering him?

"Well, just let us see what these Greybeards have to say", she said standing up. If he had made up his mind so could she. She wouldn't delay anymore and get the meeting with the Greybeards over with at once.

Bishop nodded as he saw the look of determination of her face and got up as well. He kicked some snow into the small fire and followed her farther up the mountain path.

 

 

They were lucky the good weather continued to hold and made good time. After an especially long flight of stairs, they came face to face with a frost troll. Ylva cursed. Bishop, that had come up from behind, immediately drew his bow as Karnwyr shot past him, attacking the troll head on.

Ylva readied her axes and drew in her breath. Just as the troll kicked the wolf to the side she let out the Thu'um: "YOL TOR!"

The beast roared as its fur was set aflame, wildly thrashing about. The warrior dodged a claw aimed at her face and buried an ax in the beasts exposed side. Hot blood splattered into the snow. With a loud roar, the beast turned to where she was standing but suddenly slumped to the ground. A black arrowhead poked out of its throat.

Bishop was standing with his bow still in one hand, a second arrow in the other.

"I think it's dead", Ylva said, kicking the troll.

"Seams that way", Bishop lowered his bow. Karnwyr came to sniff the troll. He looked up at Ylva waiting for permission. A smile spread across her face. It was a small gesture, but one she appreciated.

"Go right ahead. I don't feel like troll just now", she pulled her ax out of the beast's side and cleaned it off in the snow.

The wolf dug his teeth into the white fur, ripping out chunks of flesh, grunting satisfied. In passing, Bishop whispered to him: "Deserter." Karnwyr ignored him feasting blissfully on the still steaming meat.

The warrior had walked ahead looking around a bent on their path. He came to stand next to her, his gaze following her own. There, at the end of a long path stood a bulwark of dark stone. They had almost reached their destination.

"High Hrothgar", her voice was low. She straightened her back and without looking away she strode forward. Bishop watched her take the lead. 'Dragonborn indeed' he thought to himself as he admired her back.

"Are you coming?", she shouted, the slight shaking of her voice betraying her confidence. He whistled for Karnwyr to follow and went after her.

 

 

It still took about half an hour to make it to the monastery. At the center of two set of stairs was a chest. Ylva took a back she had been carrying the whole day and dropped it inside the chest.

"This concludes that", she said to herself.

"What are you doing?", the ranger had observed her.

She turned towards him and shrugged. "Klimmek had asked if I could take the deliveries to the Greybeards. As we were going anyway I thought it wouldn't hurt."

"Are you helping every stranger you meet?"

"Who said Klimmek is a stranger? I've been to Ivarstead a few times before and know it's people. Also, I help where I can."  
  
"Please say that's just some sort of mental condition", Bishop kneaded the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Someone like you wouldn't understand", her eyes glowered at him angrily as she turned and strode up the stairs to the door. Since when was it anybody's business if she chooses to help somebody? She pushed open the door, stepping into a dark corridor. Her steps on the stone floor echoed back from the walls as she went onward.

 

Ylva reached a hall lit by fires. As she made her way to the middle a hooded figure emerged from the shadows to her right.

"So...a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."

She bowed respectfully, "I'm answering your summons."

"We will see if you truly have the gift", the old man replied, "Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."

Bewildered she looked at the old men. How should she _prove_ she was Dragonborn? She had assumed they would know immediately. Maybe they wanted her to shout, was that it? Looking at the old man in front of her she wondered which Thu'um would hurt him the least. Breathing in she decided on the weakest she knew: "FUS!"

The monk was thrust backward but managed to stay on his feet. When he looked at her again she saw the hint of a smile on his otherwise blank face.

"Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

'This conversation is getting stranger and stranger', Ylva thought to herself. It was _them_ that had called on her to come, had they not?

"I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn", she answered.

"And we are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you..."

 

 

The longer Ylva talked to the Greybeards the more confused she became. The Greybeards answers to her questions were vague and evasive. Why had she been so afraid of meeting them in the first place? Sure, they had taught her some new Words of Power – _Rotmulaag_ in the Dragon tongue– and had asked her to bring back the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. But they hadn't told her anything about her destiny. She got the feeling that either they didn't know about the prophecy or that they didn't care. Did they not realize that Alduin World Eater himself had returned?

She was still pondering the question when Bishop suggested they should set up their bedrolls in the great hall. The Greybeards had no beds left to spare – at least that's what Arngeir had told her when she'd asked – nor would they let them join them for dinner. If it hadn't been for dusk setting in after they had tested her in the courtyard she would have loved to leave this place behind her.

"Did you get what you were looking for?" Bishop was looking at her, sitting on his bedroll.

'Not at all' she thought, but she wouldn't say that out loud with the Greybeards so close by. She settled for "Not exactly" which earned her snicker from the ranger.

"What do you think of High Hrothgar?"

"The Greybeards should just die already rather than sulk around this broken place", the ranger didn't even seem to care who could hear him, "The next time you see one tell them to run towards the light and be done with it."

Ylva was surprised at his boldness. "You are honest, I'll give you that. But are you rude like this to everyone?"

"Of course!"

"Why?"

"Why waste time pretending to be someone else? The sooner people face the cold realities and harsh truths of the world the better! Why pretend we're anything other than what we are? I've seen how you rather bite your tongue rather than speak the truth."

"The hell are you talking about? I speak my mind – but I _do_ know when it's best to just shut up!", she was not having any of this – a flame of anger began to burn in her chest. When Bishop grinned broadly she realized that he had wanted to get under her skin on purpose.

"We will be leaving early tomorrow", she informed him, the anger already subsiding.

"Good", he said, still grinning victoriously at her.

Shaking her head, she turned her back to him and slipped inside her bedroll.

 


	5. Cards and Companions

They didn't make it far the next day as a storm began to brew up just as they passed their resting spot from the day before which forced them to make camp. Ylva had woken in an especially nasty mood which hadn't improved by the prospect of having to spend half the day and, if they were especially unlucky, the night camped while a snowstorm made travel impossible. And going back to the monastery wasn't an option either with the storm approaching fast. Bishop had volunteered to gather some firewood from the few bushes and trees that grew up on the Throat of the World, while she set up the tent and looking over their supplies.

She had bought some bread and dried meat from Wilhelm which would last them well enough through two more days, maybe they could stretch it to four with some fresh game. Good - she had enough of snowstorms getting in her way, so she wanted to take the longer route home that would lead her through parts of Eastmarch. It was warmer and generally a more pleasant road, but not without its perils. Stormcoak patrols could be anywhere and she didn't care to get too close to one.

By the time she had made up her mind which paths to choose Bishop came back carrying twigs and larger branches. He dropped them at her feet and chafed his hands.

"Better be quick with the fire, ladyship. We should get at least a little warmer before the storm hits us."

She nodded and built the campfire, lighting it with her Thu'um. The ranger checked the tent stakes then returned sitting next to her, warming his hands.

"Do you have any idea where this horn is the Greybeards want you to find?", he asked casually.

"If the stories I heard are true, it lays in Jurgen Windcaller's burial chamber inside Ustengrav. The tomb should be somewhere north of Morthal in the swamp", she replied, feeding another branch to the flames.

"Morthal? That's at least a week's trip from here", he eyed their pack worried.

"Only if you plan on walking all the way there", she cut a piece from the bread and gave it to him, "First we're headed to Whiterun. I need to resupply and take care of some other business. There is a small path through Eastmarch that will lead directly into Whiterun Hold."

"Why don't we take the road to Windhelm and turn left when reaching the White River? Wouldn't that be faster?"

"It would, but I'm not keen on stumbling upon any Stormcloak patrols. They don't care whether or not I have chosen a side in the war, being the daughter of a well-known Captain of the Imperial Legion is enough for them to make me their enemy."

"That certainly is a point", he reckoned, "Well, I don't mind being off the roads. You are less likely to be robed by bandits unless you stumble over a camp."

"That brings up something I wanted to ask you."

"What is it?", he had a guarded look on his face - there certainly were things he didn't want her to ask.

"You don't carry anything else besides a bedroll and very small pack, yet you don't give the impression that you have a home here", she was watching his face for any changes - she didn't want to scare him away with her nosiness, "Are you just living out of that small pack?"

"I don't like to be tied to a place. It may be strange for you, but I have been living like this for as long as I can remember. Nature supplies everything I need and if I need some money I just take a job tracking. I like my freedom."

"You're like a lone wolf then, well not completely, but I guess Karnwyr doesn't need much to get by." The wolf, laying curled around her ankles looked up as he heard his name. She smiled at him and ruffled his fur.

"What about you? I don't see a trail of people following you around", Bishop theatrically looked around to demonstrate that they were alone.

"I have a home - a very cozy one too - just between Whiterun and Riverwood. Maybe I'll show it to you when we get to Whiterun. But if I'm not traveling I pass most of my time in Whiterun. Traveling alone is a nice change to the crowded life in the city", she half-smiled, "And with the Dragons about there are not too many willing to travel the wilds of Skyrim."

As if nature wanted to demonstrate just how wild it could be a gust of wind blew them in the faces, making the fire flicker.

"It's starting", Ylva said, just as lightning cracked the sky, "Best to get inside the tent."

She turned and got inside, Karnwyr following behind. The tent was rather small for the three of them, so she settled for sitting on her bedroll. Bishop did the same while the wolf snuggled up to the both of them, poking his wet nose against her arm.

Outside the storm howled loudly. The only thing left now was waiting for it to calm down. Ylva reached into her pack and with a victorious "Ha!" she drew out a deck of cards.

"How to do feel about cards?", she asked.

"And what is your stake?", his eyes glistered roguishly.

"How about a song or a story?", she proposed, "You don't seem to have that much gold on you."

"Actually, I do", he reached inside his jacket and drew out a small pouch.

"Gold it is then", she grinned at him dealing out the cards.

 

 

The Storm finally let up in the late afternoon. Ylva was happy to get on their way again, the heavy weight of her bag of coins clicking against her leg. At first, Bishop had been amused at her talent at playing cards, but after she won game after game he had gotten more and more frustrated.

He was now following her down the road back to Ivarstead, brooding over his lost gold. This woman was full of surprises. Strong, honor-bound warrior one moment, then talented bard and the next thing he knew she relieved him of his gold while gambling. What would come next?

The journey on the mountain pass was pretty uneventful. After staying for another night at The Vilemyr Inn they made for the path north out of Ivarstead the next morning. Except for some wolves and a nasty Frostspider they were left alone. Ylva now and again took some time to pluck some mountain flowers, thistles, and Snowberries if they passed any. This usually resulted in a remark about how they would never reach Whiterun if they continued at this pace.

Following down the snowy path the mountain the White River came into view.

Relieved Ylva sighed. "Just around the next bend in the river, we will see Whiterun."

"And be just in time for supper", Bishop remarked, looking at the sun, "If you decide to leave the weeds at the side of the road alone, that is."

She glared at him. "Don't complain to me then if we run out of healing potions."

"If I may remind you ladyship it had been _you_ that had wanted to get to Whiterun as soon as possible."

She glowered at him. He was right, of course. There was a reason she wanted to be back as quickly as possible. While she only had been away for a couple of days she was worried something may have happened.

"All right, all right. Let's be on our way", she surrendered, picking up her pace.

When they came around the final river bend the city came into view. Whiterun had been built on a hill towering over the Plains. At the top of the hill sat the palace - Dragonsreach they called it. From there the Jarl had a good few of everything that happened in his hold. Ylva's heart felt lighter with the city in sight. Yes, she loved going out on adventures, but coming home was something she always looked forward to.

"Come on, we're almost there", she shouted over her shoulder as she quickened her pace even more.

Bishop had to run to catch up, swearing under his breath. But seeing her so giddy made him look forward to getting to the city, too.

 

 

They reached the city with the first lights of dawn. Ylva enjoyed the warm cozy feeling of coming home as they entered the city of Whiterun. The guards nodded respectfully as she passed by them. Adrianna, working the on a piece of armor at the forge looked up and greeted her cheerfully.

"Coming back from another mission?", she asked.

"No, taking care of some business, but I will be heading out again soon", she said.

"You're always on the road these days. The Circle sure keeps you busy," said the Redguard, "If you need anything, be sure to stop by."

"Thanks, Adrianna, I will."

As they made their way up to the Wind District many more people greeted her, though steering clear of Karnwyr who followed in her step. Bishop watched her, one eyebrow raised questioningly. She knew that sooner or later she would have to answer some questions, but for now, she ignored him.

The feeling of home was overwhelming when she finally laid her eyes on Jorrvaskr. Knowing that the others would be waiting for her return she ran up the stairs and opened the door.

"I'm back", she said cheerfully, standing in the doorway. Next thing she knew she was swept off her feet as a tall Nord hugged her fiercely.

"Farkas, you're chocking me!", she complained, half laughing.

"Welcome home sister", Farkas said as he put her back on her feet, "You've been gone quite a while. We were worried something had happened."

"The weather didn't play along, and I was stuck in a Storm. Before that, I had an encounter with two Dragons, but luckily just the two in the last days. It still took me longer than I have anticipated."

"Dragons again? You know you really shouldn't take on every flying lizard you meet", he sounded alarmed.

"You don't have to worry about me, brother", she smiled at him, "You know I can take care of myself. And it kinda is my duty to take care of them with this Dragonborn business."

"Still, if you take care of every dragon out there, how are we going to get our share of the glory?", Farkas ruffled through her auburn hair and added, his tone getting all serious, "And who is this?"

Ylva turned around. "That's Bishop. I met him a couple a days ago in Riverwood. He decided to join me. The wolf is Karnwyr. Bishop, Karnwyr, this is Farkas of the Companions."

The two men looked at each other critically. To be honest it was some sort of glaring contest. She noticed the tension between them with some surprise. Quickly she put a hand on Farkas' arm to distract him.

"Brother, where are Vilkas and Kodlak? I want to see them."

"Vilkas is out on a mission with Aela, but Kodlak is down in his quarters."

Seeing the distress in his eyes Ylva asked: "How is the old man?"

"You know he doesn't speak to us about his illness, but he looks weaker day by day", the big man rested both his hands on her shoulder, "Sister, you're good with alchemy. Maybe you can ease his pains a bit."

A cold feeling took hold of her, and a shiver ran down her spine. Without a further word, she stormed down the stairs to the living quarters. She heard Bishop yell after her, but she didn't care.

 

 

Kodlak was sitting in his study, a book lay open on the table in front of him. His face had a very grey color to it, his silver hair looked dull. Only the ice blue eyes that looked up as she came into the study were still clear and sharp though she could see the strain in the way he moved. When looked worse than the last time she had seen him. Her guts tensed up with fear.

"So, you've returned", he smiled weakly.

"Gramps", she whispered and sank to her knees beside him, "How do you feel?"

"Don't worry about an old wolf, pup", he gently touched her face, "My time has not yet come, not until I found the cure to our curse."

"Gramps, I can see that you are in pain and so can the others. I know there is no cure to your suffering, but please let me brew you some potions to help ease some of it", she pleaded, her eyes watering, "Please, I can't lose you too. Not after we lost Skjor to the damned Silver Hand."

She felt the old mans hand gently caressing her hair.

"You won't lose me, pup. And you haven't lost Skjor, he will always be with us", he said, "He will always be in our hearts."

Her tears flowed down her cheeks as she struggled to regain her control. Seeing this Kodlak sighed.

"Fine. If it will put you and the others at ease you can make me some potions. But I don't want them to cloud my mind. It is the last weapon I can still wield."

"They won't, I promise", she whispered, wiping away the tears.

"Now, no more tears for this old wolf, you hear? You are home now, so rest. Tell Tilma to cook for you too. I want to hear the stories you brought home, and I'm sure the others want to hear them as well."

"I'll tell you everything you want to know", she gently pressed her cheek into the huge but bony hand.

"You make this old warrior really proud", his eyes glowed warmly at her. His words almost brought the tears back to her eyes, but this time she managed to keep them down.

She took his hand in hers and kissed him gently on the forehead, then got up. "Thank you, Harbinger. I will now go and prepare you some potions."

"Go, my pup", Kodlak nodded. She could feel his gaze still linger on her as she made her way back to the great hall. In her head she was already listing every herb she would need to buy from Arcadia to brew a simple solution for now. She wouldn't dare leave Kodlak waiting too long, so there was no time to go to the Lodge where she kept all her ingredients.

 

As she pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the main hall of Jorrvaskr she overheard Farkas threatening Bishop. Startled she stopped to listen.

"I don't like the look of you. If I hear that you lay your hands on Ylva I will find you and break every last bone in your body. Do you understand me?"

Bishop growled at him.

"Before you get the chance to lift one finger against me my knife will slit your throat."

'What has gotten into him?', she asked herself. Farkas knew very well she could defend herself. When she got a chance, she would confront him about it. It was not his business with whom she traveled.

She went up the stairs. Farkas stood in front of Bishop, his back towards her. Even for a Nord, he was huge - she remembered how she used to joke that there had to be some giant's blood mixed somewhere in his bloodline. He outdid Bishop by half a head, which was no small feat, but the ranger still had to look up to meet the other man's gaze. The hot angry look on his face and the way he straightened his back told her, that he clearly hated to look up. When his gaze met hers however his eyes lit up in surprise, but he quickly hid it away under his usual scowl. Farkas seeing the change in his expression quickly turned, looking like a child caught red-handed doing something he knew very well he shouldn't do.

"I need to go to Arcadia and buy some herbs. Bishop, you want to come?", she said cocking one eyebrow.

"Gladly", he nodded, shooting an evil glare at Farkas.

In passing, she whispered to her Shield Brother, "We will talk about this later."

 


	6. Oh Brother Dear

 

As the doors of Jorrvaskr closed Bishop couldn't contain himself anymore.

"What in Oblivion was that all about?", he shot at hear angrily.

"How should I know?", she shot back. Her hazel eyes glowered at him. That's when he noticed the smudged war paint and red eyes.

"What happened down there? Your face looks horrible."

"It's the old man. He's...dying", her throat tightened, "He wants to hide it from us, even though he is in great pain."

She could feel tears welling up again but fought for control. Bishop watched her with a soft look in his eyes.

"He must mean a lot to you."

"Yes." Ylva rubbed her face, whipping away the last of her war paint as she did. "My mother was a companion but died when I was very small. My father's position didn't allow him to raise me himself, my mother wishing me to follow the family tradition, I was raised here, in Jorrvaskr. Kodlak is like a grandfather to me, though not related by blood. These people are the closest I have to a family."

"So that's why this Farkas called you sister?"

"Yes. He and his twin Vilkas are in a way my elder brothers. But let's get going. We can talk more as soon as I got the herbs I need."

"I will hold you to it", he said.

 

They went to Arcadia. Luckily the alchemist had every herb she needed for her potions and started on brewing them immediately over the alchemy table inside the shop. Bishop, watched her for a while in silence while she worked concentrated on a mixture for helping Kodlak sleep.

"When were you planning on telling me you were a Companion?", he finally asked.

She looked at him surprised. "I thought it was obvious."

He raised an eyebrow. "And why would you think _that?_ "

"Because I wear the armor?", she pointed at the wolf head on her chest piece and on her gauntlets, "And maybe because I'm not just _any_ Companion but a member of the Circle? And maybe because I come from the longest unbroken line of Companions?"

He hadn't even known that the Companions had an official armor. The Circle ringed a bell – maybe some story his mother told once? He quickly tucked the memory firmly back where it had come from. This was not the time to think about that...woman. Instead, he asked: "What do you mean with 'unbroken line'?"

Ylva continued to work on the concoction while she explained.

"Do you know the story of how Jorrvaskr came to be?", when Bishop didn't make a sound she continued, "It used to be one of the boats of Ysgrammor's 500 Companions. The Captain of the Jorrvaskr found the Skyforge and decided this should be the place they would settle. Among the crew of the Jorrvaskr was my forbear Tsynal Twice-Named. Since the ages of old, the line of our family never broke and each and every one of my forebears was a Companion, down to my mother and me. I am the last of my line though. And by the looks of it, it may stay that way."

Her eyes had turned dark and cold with her last words.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that."

Her head shot up, her eyes narrowing at him. "And what makes _you_ so sure about that?"

"Seeing of how...protective...your "brother" is of you it wouldn't surprise me if he simply wanted you for himself."

Bishop crossed his arms before his body. Ylva just shook her head at the thought. Farkas interested in her? No, that was just too ridiculous. He was her brother, maybe a little overprotective, but still only her brother.

"Don't kid yourself. He is quite popular with the ladies – and I certainly am not one of them."

She didn't understand why, but the ranger seemed relieved hearing this. The concoction was ready for bottling, so she quickly corked it and put it in one of her pouches.

"I will head back to Jorrvaskr and bring these to Kodlak. Do you want to come along? Dinner is going to be served soon and almost everyone will be there."

"I might as well. Not like I have anything else to do. Plus, I want to meet this Kodlak for myself."

 

They came back just in time for dinner to be served. All the Companions not currently away on a mission were present. There only remained three free seats – the one on to the right of Kodlak, one between Nadja Strong-Arm and Torvar and one on the left edge of the huge table, right next some of the whelps. Bishop didn't look all too happy but made his way over to the one on the edge. The Harbinger beckoned her to sit beside him. Ylva reluctantly made her way over to him. This spot had been reserved Skjor. Taking it also meant in a way to take Skjors place. She didn't feel she deserved it.

"Pup, how long will you keep standing there? Sit down", the deep smooth voice brought her back from her thoughts and she quickly sat down.

"I brought you something", she produced the two bottles out of her bag, "Take the red one first, the violet one is for when you go to bed this evening."

He put his big hands on hers. "Thank you."

Under the observation of the whole group, he uncorked the red bottle and took a huge gulp. She knew it was more to settle everybody's nerves then to help ease his illness. Farkas searched for her gaze and silently mouthed "Thank you."

The old man put the bottle down, nodding for Tilma to start serving out whatever she had been preparing.

"So, you've been gone for some days. We are all looking forward to your tale."

Ylva nodded and started telling of her last days. Of the dragon that had been attacking her when she had returned from a job from Rorikstead fighting fire with bow and axes, how fire bloomed inside her chest when the life went out of the lizard into her, feeling the fire breath, she had mastered just two days before, strengthen even more.

Of the second one, she encountered in Riverwood and afterward the ice cold feeling in her gut, still feeling like she was missing something.

Of the quest of rescuing a caged wolf. Hearing how she described Bishop's skill with the bow the whole gathering raised their mugs in acknowledgment. The ranger raised his in answer, meeting Ylva's gaze. While not shy to praise his own skill, he seemed a bit embarrassed to be praised by someone else.

She told them of the long way up the stairs, their fight with the troll and the meeting with the Greybeards. The whelps especially looked at her in awe as she described how she learned to sprint like a Whirlwind.

 

Bishop watched her from his seat enjoying the warmth of the open hearth before him and the hot stew in front of him. She told the stories in a slightly exaggerated way, added some bits here and there, but leaving out some, too, as far as he could tell. Everybody was closely listening to her, wanting to hear more. The attention so focused on her he could get a closer look at those Companions.

The old man in the middle had to be Kodlak, the Harbinger. He had heard his name in some of the taverns around Skyrim. Though once probably a fierce warrior he was now rendered only a shadow from his former self by illness and old age. He looked at Ylva proudly and the way he sometimes touched her hand held nothing but the love of a grandparent.

On his left site sat that giant Farkas. He grimaced involuntarily as he thought back to the threats the other guy had thrown at him. Now, looking at Ylva the huge warrior had a warm smile on his face, that made Bishop want to punch him. He couldn't explain the urge or where it came from. But somehow deep inside his gut, he felt that she was his prey and he didn't want any other man looking at her like that.

And then there were two Nords – a woman and a man. She looked as if she had bitten on something sour, while still a small smile tucked at the corners of her mouth while listening to Ylva. The guy looked like he loved mead maybe a little too much – his eyes were bloodshot, and his face showed the unhealthy color of long alcohol abuse.

Then there was a Breton girl that looked at Ylva as if she was a hero of old, her eyes never leaving the older woman. Next to her sat a Dunmer. If not for his race he could be related to the Nord woman for his face looked as grim as hers.

"That sounds like quite an adventure", Kodlak smiled warmly at Ylva, "You made us proud, yet again."

Ylva looked down, slightly blushing.

"Let us raise our mugs to our Shield-Sister that she may always return with tales to tell!", the old man held out his mug and the others quickly followed.

"Oh, stop it, Gramps. I'm only doing what has to be done", she didn't want to take the glory all for her own. Instead, she turned to Ria.

"How is your training coming along? Has Farkas taught you anything useful?"

The girl lit up like a fire at being talked to by her idol and obediently answered: "Oh yes! I even killed a bear yesterday."

"That's good", Ylva nodded.

 

The conversation turned to different things then. Kodlak talked about the jobs the Companions had been assigned, discussing with her and Farkas who would be best suited for which job. The younger members soon lost interest and got up. No one bothered much with Bishop or Karnwyr.

Ylva looked up from talking over to him. She hadn't thought about it until just now, but he must feel really awkward among all these people blissfully ignoring him. She smiled at him apologetically. Tomorrow she would need to find something to make it up to him. Looking back at Kodlak she noticed the old man's eyes becoming tired.

"Gramps, why don't you take the violet bottle and go down to your quarters? We can discuss the rest tomorrow", she put a hand on his arm and squeezed.

"You might be right", he got up, his eyes falling on Bishop, "And there are some more things I would like to talk to you come morning."

Ylva didn't know what to make of that. Seeing as only Bishop, Farkas and herself remained she fixed her gaze on her brother.

"Brother, would you mind getting some fresh air with me?"

Startled he looked at her. "If you want to..."

She got up and left through the back doors to Jorrvaskr. The big Nord followed her outside. Once the doors shut behind them with no one left she turned around to face him.

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?", she shouted at him.

"What do you mean?", he looked confused.

"I heard you threatening Bishop. The hell was that all about?"

His face hardened and he crossed his arms before his chest.

"That has nothing to do with you."

"Oh yeah? It is not your business who I'm traveling with! And I'm well able to take care of myself. I don't need your protection!", her anger burned hot like fire.

"That guy is a bad influence. He just wants you in his bed, I see it in the way he looks at you" Farkas glowered back at her.

"He wouldn't live long if he lay one finger on me if I didn't want it, too", her face blazed bright red.

"Are you so sure about that? I don't want anybody to take advantage of you, sister."

"I'm damn well sure. You know what?", she put her hands on her hips, "Why don't I show you just how capable I am in defending myself tomorrow? I gladly prove my strength sparring with you."

"Why not right now?", he was just as angry as herself.

"You damn well know why. You don't stay a chance if we fight now – not with the full moons so close."

It wasn't an overstatement. If they continued something within them might wake up that was very hard to be put back to sleep with the moon out. And while Farkas was strong he lacked one thing – control.

"Fine", he pushed the words through his gritted teeth.

She strode past him and pushed open the door, nearly hitting Bishop in the face. Surprised she blinked at him. Had he been listening? Well, it didn't matter and she was tired anyway.

"Come on, Bishop. Let's find you a place to sleep. I think we have some spare beds down where the whelps sleep", she said.

"I'd rather sleep at the inn", Bishop eyed Farkas that entered just behind her.

"And how are you going to pay up? Hulda doesn't give beds away for free", she took his arm and lead him down to the living quarters, "Besides, no one will mind. Here you are under _my_ protection."

Ylva could feel Farkas's eyes boring into her back – tomorrow she would show him not only that she was capable to fight her own battles. It would also serve as a good example for the whelps.

 

The whelps were already asleep. Torvar snored loudly. He had been too deep into his cups again – she needed to talk to Kodlak and Vilkas about it some time. At the far end of the small room were two empty beds. She chose the one with its head to the wall straight across where Ria was sleeping.

"Wait, your sleeping here as well? Don't you have a room to your own?", Bishop seemed surprised.

"No, I don't. My house is only half an hour from the city, so I usually don't sleep here. When I was little Farkas, Vilkas and I shared a room until I got too old", she smiled at the memory, "On the few occasions I do stay the night I always sleep in here."

The ranger sat down on the other free bed. His scowl was deeper than usual.

"You don't feel too comfortable here", it was more like a statement than a question. Bishop shot her a gaze but nodded.

"We won't stay too long. After the training in the courtyard tomorrow I will be going to my house so that I can prepare a stockpile of potions for Kodlak and also resupply for our trip to Morthal. You can come along if you want, but of course you don't have to", she suggested.

"I will come with you to your home but then I will maybe go hunting for a bit", he answered.

She understood his need for solitude. Deep down she was worried that he would decide not to join her again. Why did that thought make her so sad?

"Then rest and sleep well", she turned around and pressed her eyes shut. Telling from the rustling of straw he did the same. While she was tired to the bone sleep didn't want to come. Maybe it was Torvar's snoring, maybe it was because she was sleeping in her armor again, but she was restless. When sleep finally took her in the little hours of the morning she dreamed of shadows, of fire and blood.

 


	7. Teaching a Lesson

 

Bishop found her the next morning sitting on the stairs in the courtyard cleaning her axes. She had fixed her war paint and her auburn hair was freshly plaited into a long braid.

"What are you doing up so early?", he sat down beside her.

"I was restless", she was rubbing at a very stubborn speck of dirt on the handle.

"Couldn't sleep as well, hmm?", he asked as he sat down next to her.

"You too?", she replied, and he nodded. Sighing she looked up into the blue-pink sky – the colors of dawn were almost fading into a beautiful day.

"Do you really want to fight your brother?", he remarked after a while.

"You _have_ been eavesdropping then", she teased, "Don't get it in the head that I fight him because of you – Farkas has always been the overprotective type. I guess for him I will always be the little sister that used to braid his hair and call him names. But I am not anymore. I'm stronger than him. He needs to be reminded of that."

Bishop cocked an eyebrow at her, "You don't look stronger to me."

She playfully dug her elbow into his side. "You know nothing, Bishop. I told you I had talents."

"I'm looking forward to discovering more", he winked at her which made her blush a little.

"Ahem", someone cleared one's throat behind them. Whirling around she saw Aela stand in the doorway.

"Aela!", Ylva got up and hugged the other woman, "When have you returned?"

"Just now. Vilkas is down checking up on Kodlak", the redhead looked from Ylva to Bishop and back, "Is it true that you are going to spar with Farkas?"

"It is true."

"Then do me a favor and give the old icebrain a good thrashing. He has become a little lazy training the whelps", she gave Ylva a friendly nudge on the shoulder.

 

It didn't take long and all the members of the Companions had gathered on the porch, waiting for the fight to start. The contesters stood in the middle. Kodlak, sitting on a chair in the shade with a good view reminded them of the rules.

"Remember, no magic, no potions. Just steel against steel", he said.

"Does the Voice count as magic?", Ylva didn't need the Voice to defeat Farkas, but she wanted to know.

Kodlak was thinking. "The Companions of old used the Voice – but it would gain you an unfair advantage."

"All right, I won't need it anyway", her eyes were fixed on Farkas.

Bishop was standing to the side leaning against a pillar observing her closely. She seemed relaxed, betrayed only by the twitching of her hands. Farkas reached for the claymore on his back and nodded – he was ready. Ylva nodded in response and took out her axes.

The warriors began to circle around each other, each waiting for the first move of the other.

Farkas was the first to break. He stepped forward, swinging his claymore downwards. Gracefully she whirled out of the weapons reach. But she didn't attack, even though his flank was exposed. Instead, she continued to circle him. What was she waiting for?

The big guy turned and used the momentum to swing the huge sword in her direction. Again, with a swiftness that betrayed the heavy armor she wore, she dove past him. This time she hit him with the handle of one ax into the rips, knocking the air out of his chest. He stumbled backward but got hold of her arm in the last moment, pulling her with him. She had prepared for that, whirling around and bringing her leg behind his. With her force she made him trip over.

Farkas regained his balance fairly quickly though and she had to jump back as the claymore once more came swinging her way. She brought up her axes, catching the blade in the cross. The force made her grunt with effort. Bishop involuntarily reached for the hilt of his dagger. Would she need his help? The warrior pushed on, making her arms quiver. A smile spread on her face. Was that the moment she had been waiting for?

She breathed in and pushed. To the ranger's amazement, she managed to regain ground, making the big guy retreat. The look of surprise on that guy's face was most satisfying. She released the blade from the grip of her axes, dodging the strike. An ax fell to the floor as she took hold of his arm, using his momentum to throw him to the ground.

The impact knocked all air from his body and he lost the grip on his claymore that clanked as it slid over the stone floor. Ylva stood over him, an ax to his exposed throat.

"Do you yield?", she said calmly. It took a moment before Farkas could muster an answer.

"I yield."

A round of applause and cheering erupted among the observers. The proud winner grinned down at her brother and offered a hand. He took it, grinning too. He wouldn't hold a grudge, Bishop realized.

"Impressive isn't she", a voice next to him startled him. The old man had left his place to stand beside him.

"Yeah", Bishop was wary of how he hadn't noticed the Harbinger coming to stand beside him.

"She is a force to reckon with, just keep that in mind my boy", the sharp eyes bored into him. The ranger had a feeling as if the old man saw straight into his soul and shifted uncomfortably.

"I will keep it in mind", he stammered. From the corners of his eyes, he could see Ylva approaching him.

"You gave your Shield-Brother quite a beating", the old man greeted her.

"His fault for not training as hard as he should be", she said grinning proudly, "Gramps I need to get to my Lodge to prepare a supply of potions for you. Will you be alright for a couple of hours?"

"I will, pup."

She turned towards Bishop with an eyebrow raised in question. "You wanna come?"

"Sure", Bishop pushed himself away from the pillar.

 

Riverside Lodge was just as she had left it. Walking over the bridge she stretched happily. Jorrvaskr was her family's home but this, this was her own.

"Do you want to get a look from the inside too or do you want to get going?", she faced the ranger.

"One look couldn't hurt", he winked at her.

The lodge was partly built into the surrounding the ground. Bishop whistled in appreciation as he stepped inside. While it was modestly decorated it had everything an adventurer might need. There was an area for smithing to the right and straight ahead he could make out a large library.

"How did you come by this place?", he asked as he followed her to that area.

"It's been in my family for some generations. There were several additions made over the years. Outside I have a sauna and a small pool. Up the stairs, in the front of the house, you reach the kitchen, the stairs to your right lead up towards my bedroom."

"You have a sauna _and_ a pool?", he looked at her in disbelief.

"Considering testing them out?", she grinned at him, "I thought you wanted to go hunting."

"Maybe some other time", he smiled back at her, "My fingers itch for some game."

"When will you...", she was reluctant to ask, "when will you be back? You don't have to, of course."

"Do you fear I will leave?", Bishops grinned wildly, "Don't worry, I will meet you in Whiterun when the sun is down. But I don't care for sleeping in that crowded room – I'll take a room in the inn."

"That's all right", she was relieved that he planned on returning, "Torvar's snoring is not something I have to have every night. Have fun then."

Unexpectedly the ranger leaned forward and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Don't miss me too much."

He winked and left, leaving her caught completely off guard. A hand touched the spot his surprisingly tender lips had met her a moment ago. What had that been all about? Shaking her had she tried to focus on the job at hand.

 


	8. Stories of the Past

 

Ylva returned to Jorrvaskr in the afternoon. After she had prepared a large number of potions for Kodlak she had taken the time to get into her shower, cleaning off the dirt and grime of the last days. Her hair smelled of purple and red mountain flowers and she wore a new linen shirt and breeches beneath her armor. She had also taken the time to prepare a bigger pack for the journey ahead. She would go pick it up after she was done in Whiterun. Her mare Allie was healthy as ever and ready for a longer trip, that she had made sure upon returning to the city. And she had prepared a little surprise for the ranger.

The Harbinger was sitting in his study again, waiting for her.

"Gramps, here are the potions I made for you. These should last you a couple of days. I wrote down the recipe and gave it to Arcadia to make you more if you run out of them and I haven't returned", she explained.

"You worry too much", he said, "Come, sit down my pup. I want to talk to you."

She sat down in the chair across from him, "What is it?"

"I worry about you, Ylva", he watched her with honest concern in his eyes, "Ever since you found about being the Dragonborn you have been different."

As always, he had seen what was in her heart.

"Before, my destiny was to bring glory to the Companions, survive as long as possible and bear a child to continue the tradition. But now...I don't want to face Alduin – he haunts me in my sleep and for the first time I really feel afraid", she looked down, not wanting to meet the old man's gaze.

"My dear, it would be foolish to not be afraid. The Gods have put you on a path not many can walk. We can only wonder why this fate has fallen to you", he put a warm hand over hers, "I have seen many warriors come and go, have seen many heroes been born on the battlefields of life. You I have seen grow from a pup fitting into my hands to a strong warrior that already outshines some of the greatest warriors of Tamriel."

"Gramps, you are exaggerating!"

"Trust this old wolf, I have seen my share of warriors. If this fate had fallen to Aela, Vilkas and Farkas I wouldn't be sure that they would prevail. Aela is too proud and stubborn, Vilkas too fiery and Farkas too kind-hearted. But you, lass, you fight with honor and glory, holding true to tradition but breaking with them when it's necessary. I am sure you will find your way", his warm eyes were comforting.

"Thank you, Harbinger", she whispered.

"Besides, I have a feeling you won't be walking this path all on your own", his face showed a knowing smile.

"Wait, are you talking about Bishop?", she frowned.

"Is that the name of the young man you brought with you yesterday? Yes, I am talking about him. I'm glad you found someone to share your adventures with. You have been going out without a Shield-Sibling long enough."

"You know why I go alone", her face darkened.

"Mabil's death was not your doing, you know that", he sighed, "She was young and too eager. You did what you could to protect her."

Mabil had been an orphan much like herself and had come to the Companions just when she had come of age. She had been like a younger sister to Ylva and so it came to no surprise that Ylva had been chosen to watch her for her trial. Mabil had died in Ylva's arms, slowly bleeding to death.

"I have another thing I wanted to talk to you about", Kodlak brought her back from her dark memories, "I may have found a solution to our curse."

He pushed the opened book across the table. "Have a look at this page."

She bent over to examine the page.

"It says something about witches and a gamble between a coven and warriors", she looked up, "Could it be referring to Terrfyg?"

"That's what I thought, however, I still need to find more information", he said.

Ylva leaned back in her chair.

"If witches had been involved then it must be some Hagraven coven. I doubt any others would work Hircines madness", she thought out loud, "As far as I know the center of their magic might lies in their heads – if you can find the coven that might be an idea."

Kodlak nodded. "Right now, it is only speculation – I still have to study some more of the ancient texts we have found thus far to be sure."

"I'm happy that we are getting closer", Ylva smiled at the old man. She knew it was important for him to get rid of the curse. Hircine's hunting grounds weren't the right place for him and she still wasn't sure she wanted to go there as well.

"When you return from your quest of finding this Windcaller fellow's horn we will talk again. Maybe I will have a special job for you then", he returned the smile, "Do this old wolf a favor and return soon and in one piece. You are the only one that can help me with this."

"I will", she said.

"Then go pup. Talos guide you", he squeezed her hand.

 

Coming up the stairs she almost ran into Bishop.

"Be careful where you're going!", he exclaimed.

"Sorry", she blinked startled.

"I wanted to tell you that I would be in the Bannered Mare if you needed me."

"I was leaving anyway", she told him, "I'm heading out to the Lodge. Tomorrow we will leave for Morthal. You can stay at the Inn, but I do have a spare bedroom at the Lodge and plenty of mead there as well."

"Do you want to make me drunk so that you can have your way with me?", he grinned at her suggestively, "You don't have to – I'll play along even when sober."

Ylva blushed, "Don't you get ideas. I was just being nice."

"Oh, you can be nice to me all you want, ladyship", he winked, "I got a few ideas."

"Don't flatter yourself", she felt herself stiffen up, but still a smile crept on her face, "Let's get going through."

 

When they left Whiterun Ylva stopped at the stables, telling him to wait on the road. What was she planning? Bishop absentmindedly scratched Karnwyrs head. Just then he saw her emerge with two horses, a black mare and a spotted grey stallion. She handed Bishop the reins to the stallion.

"Here, I bought him for you this afternoon. His name is Balo."

"You bought me a horse?", he was a little suspicious.

"Yeah. I thought if you wanted to continue adventuring with me we might want to save our strength for fights and may want the extra storage", she was already in her saddle.

"Still – horses are rather expensive."

"The stable master is a friend. And Balo here has been a handful, so he didn't cost me that much coin. I thought you two might get along well. I _did_ take all your money the other day, view it as a debt repaid."

"If that's what I get when gambling with you I gladly lose some more", he grinned as he swung himself into the saddle. The stallion, irritated by the sudden weight on his back, jumped forward. Bishop swore as he struggled to stay in the saddle. He could hear Ylva's hearty laughter as she rode up next to him. Leaning down from her saddle she caught the reins, yanking at them.

"Calm down you bastard", she said to the horse, "No one's hurting you."

A quick look at the ranger revealed that besides being jarred he was managing fine.

"You haven't been on horseback too often, have you?"

"No", Bishop admitted, "It's been quite a while actually."

Ylva tied the rains to her pommel. "Don't worry, you will remember how to ride a horse. Until then Balo will walk beside my Allie. According to my friend, Allie is the only one in whose company Balo feels relaxed."

 

The stablemaster was right. The way back to the Lodge the stallion was peacefully walking alongside her mare. They took the horses to the stables and went up to the house.

"I don't know when we'll have the next time to properly wash", she began, "If you want to, you can use the pool or if you feel like it, you can use the sauna. Or if you want something quicker, there is a shower inside the sauna as well."

"Would you join me?", a roguish smile played around his lips.

"You wish", she playfully tried to punch him, but he dodged it laughing. "I have taken a shower this afternoon. And someone needs to prepare some food. I'll leave the door unlocked so you can come in when you're done."

"Fair enough", Bishop replied, "See you later."

Ylva nodded and slit inside the house and went up to the kitchen, Karnwyr following her smelling food. After giving the wolf some dried mead, she cut the ingredients for a stew. She left it to simmer on the hearth to change into something more comfortable.

 

When Bishop entered the house, he saw a hint of light skin at the end of the stairs to her bedroom. Silently he crept closer and was awarded with a glimpse of her naked body from behind, just before she slid a linen dress over her head. He licked his lips hungrily. Yes, she was a prey most worthy of hunting. Her skin had the color of honey mixed with cinnamon, but her back was covered in small dots and lines of white. The tattoo that covered her arms reached up to her shoulders and shone blue in contrast with her warm skin. Was it covering her chest as well?

Just as he wondered what her chest looked like under that linen dress that now covered it, she began to turn. Reacting quickly, he called her name. "Ylva, are you up there?"

"Ah, already done?", she looked down to him. He had not bothered to put on the top of his leather armor and stood bare-chested at the foot of the stairs. His skin shimmered wetly in the light of the fire. She had to stop herself from staring at his broad muscular body.

"I just took a shower", he had seen the look on her face and grinned.

"Don't you have something to put on?", she frowned at him.

"Why, am I distracting you?", his grin broadened.

Not wanting to admit how right he was, she opened up her wardrobe and took out a white linen shirt.

"Put this on or you'll catch a cold", she threw the shirt at him. He obediently slit into the shirt as she came down the stairs. It was a tat too big for him, but it was better than to slit into his still somewhat wet armor.

"That's one of my father's", she answered his unspoken question. "Come on up to the kitchen, the stew should be just about ready."

 

After finishing up the stew they settled in front of the fireplace in her library with some mead. Ylva had taken a book out of her library and skimmed the pages sipping her mead. Bishop cleaned his bow, with Karnwyr was sleeping soundly at his feet.

"Are you always spending your evenings with your nose stuck in a book?", the ranger asked.

"Usually I stay with my Shield-Siblings and drink till the early morning hours or play at the Bannered Mare. But I like being prepared when heading out on a bigger quest", she said looking up from her book.

"This book here tells some of the stories of Jurgen Windcaller and also has some information about his tomb. I'd rather spend the time here in front of the fire looking for the place then having to turn around every stone in Hjaalmarch to find it", she emptied her mug of mead.

"You seem to enjoy preparing", Bishop observed.

"Father used to say, 'The headless soldier runs into battle with nothing but his sword – the smart warrior is always prepared'", she closed the book with an audible thud.

"I'm more the 'deal with what you have' kinda guy", the ranger admitted.

"How have you learned to live in the wild anyways?", she asked.

"It was necessary to learn how to survive in this damned world, either survive or die. It's life, sweetness and I learned the hard way." The same dark shadow crossed over his face as it had on their first day together. She chose her next words carefully.

"Did you lose your family?"

"Not exactly", he was shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "I was born to a family of hunters and was often taken out for practice. The Reach taught me to always check my footing twice and the cold northern regions hardened me enough to withstand the bitterness of the wind. I was hunting Giants from the age of 10, you know, for sport. I had fun with my bow. We traveled a lot, too, from place to place. Pretty nomadic. I watched and learned. One night I just decided to take everything I had – which wasn't much – and struck out on my own."

She sensed that he only told half the truth but didn't want to press further.

"You've seen the world, huh?", she refilled her mug with a bottle from the table, "Must have been nice."

"Nice? Ha! Listen now sweetie, there's nothing nice in this world. The only nice things I can think of is a mug of mead in my hand and a warm fire", he raised his mug and nodded to Ylva.

"You're welcome. But don't get used to it", she said.

"You want to maybe share about your life story since you were curious enough to ask about mine?"

"Well, you have heard most parts of it, so maybe something from a bit earlier", she settled herself more comfortably in her chair, "My mother met my father on a mission in the Reach. The Companions had been called to deal with a very nasty tribe of Forsworn rebels that had attacked a mine. My father had been training troops in the nearby area and got wind of the Forsworn, so he came just in time to find my badly injured mother in the midst of numerous dead bodies."

"He took her to his camp and helped her get back on her feet just enough so she could return to Jorrvaskr. After that, he was a constant visitor to the Mead Hall. It surprised no one that shortly after my mother was with child – a boy. The stubborn woman she was she carried on taking jobs for the Companions and lost the child after she got struck in the belly. It was hard on her – especially since she hadn't had the chance to tell my father of their unborn child– he had been called back to Cyrodiil for a time. Since our line hasn't been broken in thousands of years she felt she had failed."

She looked into the flames, remembering the pain in her father's eyes as he had told her the story.

"But eventually my father returned and the wound in her heart began to heal. They had me a year later. Father stayed here as often as he could, but his duty to the Empire called him away again and again. Mother stayed with me when I was little but brought me to Jorrvaskr almost every day. She taught me the basics of surviving, took me out hunting and showed me how to cook. It wasn't too long, though, that she grew restless. She was killed by bandits when I was about 7 winters old. Then I lived in Jorrvaskr with the other Companions, the rest you already know."

"That was a quite a story, but I'm sure there's more to it than that", he gulped down some mead, "Well, I don't care. I don't know what kind of life I might have had if I'd chosen differently."

"Be proud of your choices Bishop, they've made you who you are."

"I'm not sure if 'proud' is the right word. But you've been helpful to me. Now it's time for me to give you a good turn."

"You better watch your wording there, ranger. A girl could get the wrong idea", she winked at him.

"Dream on, sweetheart. But I must say, I like your enthusiasm."

She blushed and hated herself for it. Hopefully, he would blame it on the mead.

"Well, before you get the wrong idea I might as well go to bed. You can choose a bed in the room behind you", she got up.

"Good night, princess", the ranger muttered as she was going up the stairs.

"Good night, ranger", she echoed.

 

Ylva was laying wide awake in her bed after a nightmare had woken her from her sleep. Dreams of hunger always haunted her with a full moon coming closer. Her mind kept wandering back to the glimpse of Bishops half-naked form. She had seen all the man in Jorrvaskr at least partially naked at some point – it was hardly avoidable with living so closely together. But while at least her brothers were equally muscular if not more than Bishop, he had a different kind of strength. He didn't rely on strength to fight alone – he depended on cunning, on staying away from the enemy, attacking from afar.

His built reflected this – he was lean, his muscles defined but flexible, good for dodging. His hands and neck were darker than his torso, but he had a similar darker color to his skin as she herself. When she had been little she had felt ashamed that her skin wasn't as light as those from the other Nord children she knew. But growing older she had found out that having a slightly darker skin had its advantages, like not getting sunburnt as badly or blending in the surroundings while hunting. His skin, in her memory still glowing wet from having just showered, had been covered in similar light lines as her own. Yes, he had been fighting for all his life, just like her.

Sleep found her again eventually, this time with nicer dreams of warm skin she was eager to explore. Waking up she still felt the heat of her dreams. Strange, she thought. She had never felt something like this. Was this some sort of spell? Or was it something else entirely, maybe what her brothers used to joke about when they were talking about some of the girls in town? All she knew was that she didn't know what to do with this strange new feeling. For now, she decided to keep it locked up. She had a destiny to fulfill, after all.

 

 


	9. Dangers on the Road

 

The road to Morthal was peaceful. In the beginning, Bishop had struggled with Balo. The stallion was stubborn and wild, much like his rider, Ylva mused. Eventually, he got used to the weight on his back and stopped with his attempts to throw the ranger of his back.

On their first day, they had stopped in Rorikstead to sleep for the night. Ylva didn't want to push the horses too much since they carried not only them but all the supplies. She had offered to play at the inn, but the innkeeper had objected – "Only real coin here" he had said.

While she wasn't so successful with talking him into letting her play as payment, she managed to convince him to let his son go out adventuring, after the boy – Erik was his name - had asked her too. She even suggested he should join the Companions if he felt he had what it takes.

The second night they spent camped out in the open, close to the border between Hjalmaach and Haafingar. They could have made it to Morthal the same day if Ylva hadn't stopped on several occasions to pick flowers, berries, and other weeds. Bishop had offered to track down some small game while she prepared their campsite. When he came back with two rabbits dangling from his hand she had already put up the tent and had a fire going.

"The tent's bigger", he observed as he sat down on a rock to skin the rabbits.

"I brought a bigger one. The other is way to small for the three of us", she replied.

"Not the cuddly type, are you?", he said.

"Do you prefer being cramped in a small tent, sleeping back to back with no place to move?", she asked.

"If it's your back, yes", his eyes showed that playful smile again.

"I'd rather have some space to move", she threw another branch into the fire. It was only half the truth. Even though they had been sleeping in separate rooms the last days her mind had been coming back to the memory of his bare chest. She needed some distance to focus on the task at hand, not get distracted by her feelings. Most likely it was just the closeness to the full moons she told herself.

"Have you been to Morthal before?", she changed the subject.

"Yes, though I don't like it. The swamps are dangerous and there some rumors about vampires and necromancers", he admits.

"I've heard those rumors, too", she nodded, "Let's hope we don't run into any. A scratch is enough to turn you."

"With the amount of potions you carry around with, I'm sure you don't have to worry", he nodded over to her saddlebag.

Just as she was about to reply she heard the familiar sound of flapping wings.

"DRAGON!", she shouted as she snatched her weapons.

"Fuck", the ranger cursed as he grabbed his bow.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!" The beast was flying towards them, his jaws hanging open spitting fire. Ylva was already reading her Voice.

"FUS ROH!"

The force hit the beast in the chest, pushing it off his direction of flight. It landed just a short distance from their campsite. Bishop launched arrow after arrow. Some hit the soft skin between its scales, drawing blood.

Ylva was sprinting towards the dragon, trying to focus her Voice for another shout. Before she could release it, the beast was up in the air again.

"Damn you!", she cried in frustration. She needed to get it down – only then could she defeat it.

"Aim for its wings!", she shouted at Bishop, running towards the camp. Where the hell was her bow?

The ranger adjusted his aim. "DO something!"

"I'm trying!", she bellowed back, finally finding her bow and quiver. The dragon flew over them and they had to dodge the fiery breath.

Ylva aimed and missed. The second arrow hit home, however. The beast screeched as his wings tore open. It crashed down, nearly missing their tent. Swiftly the warrior was on it's back, hacking her axes into the thick skull. Finally, the foe lay still. Wiping sweat and blood from her face she looked around.

"Bishop? You OK?", she shouted.

"I'm all right princess", he was breathing heavily.

"Where's Karnwyr?", she asked, just as she felt the familiar pull. The wolf poked his head from behind the ranger's legs and barked. Relieved Ylva closed her eyes as she felt the soul drawn into her body. Power raw and hot as fire. Shaking a little she climbed of the dragon's bones, for nothing more was left of the beast, going over to her companions.

"Are you hurt?", she examined him. He looked shaken, but there was no blood and no scorched skin.

"Stop pestering me, I said I was fine", he replied roughly. He looked over at the pile of bones and scales.

"From where in Oblivion did it come from?"

"I have no idea. But ever since Helgen these things pop up everywhere", she looked at him again, "That was the first time fighting one for you I guess?"

He simply nodded.

"It's not something you get used to", she admitted as she looked at the skeleton. She decided to look for some scales and bones fit for collecting. Maybe someday she would figure out how to make an armor out of them.

"How many have you faced until now?"

"That was the 5th or 6th I believe."

"You weren't shitting when you said they were after you." His comment made her look up from the skeleton. His scowl couldn't conceal the fear in his eyes. But there was also something else – a flame of excitement maybe?

She finished collecting some bones and scales from the skeleton, then set it ablaze with her Thu'um. While she cursed every dragon that crossed her path, she respected them as her enemy and felt they deserved better than their bones to be sold from lowly bandits, finding one of their corpses left by her.

After a short night staring at the stars, unable to sleep with the adrenaline of battle still rushing through her they continued on their journey. The horses that had fled during the night had returned to them come morning.

 

 

 

"Tell me again why we left the horses?", Bishop complained.

"The tomb is huge and the swamp dangerous. I'd rather pay the innkeeper than have to find out which group of bandits has my Allie", she replied, rolling her eyes. They had left the horses tied at the Moorside Inn, paying the innkeeper to keep them and their bulkier supplies save.

"And you sure we aren't lost?", he had enough from walking around.

"For the 100th time in Oblivion!", she turned towards him, "Stop complaining! If you think you can do it better, be my guest!"

She knew they were close, from the references in the book it had to be somewhere around here. After asking around for the ancient tomb Ylva found some hints that seemed to verify her research. But the overgrowth of the icy swamp made it difficult to find any hints where the entrance to the tomb was.

"Is someone there?", an unfamiliar voice came closer.

"Shit", Ylva muttered under her breath and got down. Right behind some bushes stood a bandit with lifeless eyes, looking straight through her. 'An Undead?', a thought rushed through her head, 'Then where is the necromancer?'

The mage was standing behind a stone pillar that half covered him. He was also looking around but seemingly had not spotted them yet. Bishop readied his bow as she did the same. Pointing her head towards the undead bandit she signaled him to aim for the mage.

Two arrows launched and the bandit disappeared in a pile of ash. The mage, however, came running towards them. He must have cast a ward to deflect the arrow. Ylva didn't hesitate and gathered her Voice.

"FUS ROH!"

The mage was blown into the air and hit the stone pillar with his head. Bishop didn't let the chance pass, releasing another arrow from his bow piercing the necromancers heart. A quick look around showed no more enemies in sight.

"The coast is clear", Ylva stepped over the ash pile and looked around. Grinning she turned towards the ranger.

"So much for being lost! I knew we were close!"

There was a barrow with an opening and a stairway leading to a heavy door. The corpse of a bandit lay before it.

"Looks like the mage has some friends inside", Bishop looked around.

Ylva grimaced. "Ugh, I hate necromancers, especially if there are more than one. You kill one and the other raises him again."

"Better to kill them swiftly", the ranger agreed.

 

The necromancers weren't a big problem. Sneaking closer they managed to kill the two left in the first chamber with well-placed arrows. Further in they stumbled on more mages fighting off draugrs. Neither ones were a match for their skill.

Continuing further down the tomb they reached a massive chamber built into a natural cave. Somewhere water was flowing by. Something was pulling on Ylva's senses – an almost familiar pull. There were some skeletons about that they quickly dispatched. A path led down to a pool of water. As they made their way she heard the whispering voices – was there a Word Wall close by? Her head began to throb the closer they came to the water.

"Ladyship, are you all right?", Bishop observed her with a hint of worry in his eyes.

"There's something down here", she muttered, the whispering becoming louder with every step. Just as her vision began to blur and the noise became unbearable she found it – the Rotmulaag shone blue against the grey stone. As the word resonated with the dragon souls within her, a glimpse of the Void shot through her mind. Fading into nothingness without truly being gone. A word formed inside her – FEIM.

"Princess, what the hell is going on?", Bishop stood next to her.

She realized she was leaning against the stone wall, her hand next to the Rotmulaag, the blue light gone. A relieved sigh escaped her lips – the whispering had disappeared.

"I learned a new word of power", she answered. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Whenever I come to one of those inscribed stone walls I can hear voices whispering in my head. The closer I get, the louder they become – sort of like a compass. When I finally reach these walls there is a word calling me. The word then forms in my mind. Sometimes it resonates with a dragon soul within me and I _understand_ it", she searched for words to describe the feeling but found none, "It's just really weird."

"Yep, you are one hell of a strange Dragonlady for sure", he said with an unreadable expression on his face, "Anyways. Do you need a minute or can we go on?"

She nodded – with the whispers gone, the headache subsided. "Let's get this over with."

Walking over the bridge to the other side of the cave they came to a dead end. Three gates blocked there way. Before them, were three strangely patterned stones.

"Great – another puzzle", Ylva cursed. She was getting tired and frustrated – when would they finally get to the horn?

Bishop was looking at the stones while she inspected the balcony to their right if there was any clue on how to open the gates, but besides another skeleton and some gold, she found nothing. Innerved she came down.

"Have you found something?", she stood next to the ranger. Suddenly the stone he was inspecting began to glow red.

"What the fuck?", Bishop took a step back in surprise. A metallic noise from the other end drew their attention to the gates. For a moment they both were staring silently, as they realized one of the gates had been pulled up by some magic.

"I guess there is the answer to your puzzle, princess", the ranger was the first to break the silence.

Ylva walked over to the next stone, that also began to gleam blood red and the second gate was pulled up. But as she reached the third stone the first gate came rushing down. She turned around – as expected the first stone was back to his grey state. Scratching her head she contemplated the situation. An idea popped into her mind.

"Bishop, would you stand back? I want to try something", she went around the stones and stopped facing the gates. The stones now stood on either side of her path. She prepared her Voice and took a run-up. Just as she rushed past the third stone she shouted: "WHULD!"

In the blink of an eye, she was through the gates. Oddly enough the gates remained open so Bishop and Karnwyr could easily follow her. Bishop's face mirrored her own puzzlement.

Behind the gates, they came face to face with a gigantic Frostspider and two of her children that quickly succumbed to Ylva's fire breath and Bishop arrows.

"We must be close now. The book told of Jurgen sleeping behind a room with burning floor", she pointed towards the pressure plates covering most of the floor that once activated breathed fire.

Looking around the room they found a door covered in cobwebs and entered the final burial chamber. "The horn should be on top of the sarcophagus", she said.

There was no horn. The hand reaching out of the sarcophagus only held a folded piece of paper.

"What in Oblivion?", Ylva felt scammed of her treasure. She unfolded the paper and skimmed the note.

"You've got to be kidding me!", she slammed the note on the sarcophagus. Needing to let out her anger she kicked a dead draugr laying on the floor.

"Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn – a friend", Bishop had taken up the note and read out loud, "Does this friend of yours realize that there is no attic room at the inn?"

"Well, I guess we are going to find out. But how in Oblivion did whoever took the horn to get inside here? The stones don't just react to everyone it seems. And how did he get pass by all the draugr?", she was infuriated.

"Easy – he used the back door", Bishop pointed towards another door leading out of the burial chamber.

"Well, that's just great. Hours of fighting of necromancers and draugrs all for nothing", she kicked the draugr again with so much force it slid across the floor into the water.

"Calm down, princess", the ranger was already at the door, pushing it open, "Maybe they left something behind."

Still fuming with anger and frustration she followed him. In the room behind the burial chamber, they found a chest with some enchanted gear and a jeweled necklace.

"At least he had the decency to leave some of the treasure", she murmured as she packed the loot away.

Her mood was still awful when they finally made it back to Morthal sometime around midnight. Not wanting to talk much she retreated to her room after some food and ale, but sleep did not come to her that night. She could almost feel the pulsing in her blood in answer to the full moons out in the night sky as she turned around in her bed.

 


	10. Bad Dreams

 

Brooding most of their travel the next day Ylva stayed quiet. The restless night, the passing of the full moons and the mysterious note were stretching her nerves. She got the chance to let out her anger as they were ambushed by bandits.

Jumping from Allies back as an arrow flew past her ear Ylva readied her axes. Skillfully she dodged another arrow and a swing of a sword, embedding her ax in the throat of the bandit closest to her. Not stopping to check whether her foe was dead she turned, ripping her ax free. In a wild rage, she stormed towards the next bandit beheading him while swirling around to throw her other ax at the last remaining bandit.

Breathing heavily, she stood surrounded by the dead bodies looking up to Bishop. The ranger was still struggling to regain control over his stallion. Balo, having panicked when the bandits launched themselves at them, had tried to pitch his rider to run away but Bishop had remained mounted.

"Damn woman", pulling on his reins he succeeded to calm Balo, "I always thought only Orcs could go berserk."

"Shut it ranger", she picked up her axes, whipping them clean in the grass.

"Seriously, leave some for my ladyship – can't let you have all the fun", he smirked.

She didn't know why, but a smile crept on her face.

"You have to get faster, then maybe next time you can share the fun", she sheathed her weapons and mounted her mare.

They continued on the road to Whiterun, putting up camp by the road when the night closed in. Ylva, tired as she was after a sleepless night, soon crawled into her bedroll while Bishop watched over her.

 

The stench of blood clouded her senses. There were screams not far away. Something wet was dripping down her face. She wanted to wipe it away but instead, she scratched herself with long sharp claws. Looking down she saw white fur covering her body. Before her deformed feet lay the carcass of a deer – its guts spilled from its stomach and blood drenching the ground.

A howl, unlike anything she had ever heard pierced the night. Turning her head, her nose caught the scent of someone familiar – was that her brother? She wanted to run towards him but was awkward in her changed form. On all fours like a beast, she moved forward, following her sensitive nose.

The scent led her to a clearing in the forest. There were people there – a man wielding a sword, a woman and children. And there was the grey wolf. No – not a wolf but a werebeast, hungry and full of anger. The wind changed a little, blowing straight at her. No doubt – the beast was her brother. And he hadn't regained control! She lunged at him, throwing him off his balance thus driving him away from the family. Her brother growled at her, biting and thrashing. She held on, even as his claws dug deep into the skin of her face. Pain exploded in her head and it grew dark around her, but she still fought on.

 

Ylva was still thrashing around when she finally woke up. Strong hands shook her and a deep voice was calling for her: "Wake up! Wake up!"

Realizing it was Bishop she ceased her resistance, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. Seeing that she was awake he let her go and sat back on his bedroll.

"What was all that about woman? Were you trying to attract some predators?", he looked her over and quickly added, "You know what don't answer. I don't want you getting the idea that I care or something. Just couldn't sleep with all that screaming of yours."

"I must have had a nightmare", she murmured, absentmindedly touching the scars on her face. She could still feel how deep the cuts had been, the hot burning sensation, the blood and the guilt in her brother's eyes when he had regained his senses.

Bishop watched her worriedly but kept quiet. Still shaken from the memory haunting her dreams she managed to give him a half-crocked smile.

"How about you try to catch some sleep now? I doubt I will be able to sleep for a while", she suggested.

He grumbled something as he slipped back into his bedroll, turning his back to her. Ylva looked up at the stars, wondering why she had dreamt about that night. It had happened years ago but the memories were fresh as if only weeks had passed. Karnwyr came over and put his big head on her lap. Smiling down she scratched his ears. The company of the wolf was effective as a powerful calm spell. She knew he sensed their kinship and was grateful of having someone by her side that _knew_ her for what she was.

She looked over her shoulder at Bishop. Did he have demons of his own that came hunting him in his sleep? If he did, they seemed to have spared him this night so far. He looked calm and relaxed, breathing deeply and even snoring lightly. Nothing hinted to his harsh if not sometimes even aggressive behavior he showed during the daytime. She was curious if his face would be as relaxed as his snoring suggested, but not wanting to wake him she stayed put. Again, she felt that strange warm feeling in her chest and the smile on her face broadened. She would never say it out loud, but she really enjoyed his snarky comments, even if they made her angry at times. Turning back to face the campfire she silently thanked the Nine that they had given her a companion that was not afraid to fight alongside her and treated her as an equal.

 

 

After a few hours of dreamless sleep, they were back on the road. Ylva intended to pass Rorikstead by midday and with good weather and small breaks along the way they would make it to her Lodge sometime in the night. After days without a proper bath, she yearned for her home and possibly a nice warm shower. She had thought about going to Jorrvaskr first, but without the horn, she dreaded stepping in front of Kodlak and the rest of the Companions. That someone got to it before her still got on her nerves. Maybe after a good night sleep, it would be best to see what this _friend_ of hers wanted to talk about.

It started raining sometime after they passed Rorikstead. As it was nothing more than a slow drizzle they kept going, pulling their coaks closer to their bodies. By the time they passed the Western Watchtower they were soaked to the bone nonetheless. Seeking shelter within the destroyed tower they gathered around an open fire the guards had put up to ward off the cold of the night. Recognizing Ylva the guards even offered them some of their soup and ale they gratefully accepted. She gave them some of their bread in return. Looking around she recognized several of the faces from her first fight against a dragon. Strange that even though so little time had passed so much had changed for her. Every time she absorbed the soul of a dragon or was drawn towards a Word Wall something within her was unlocked she never knew was there in the first place.

They stayed only long enough to restore some warmth to their bodies. It was some time after midnight they finally reached Riverside Lodge. Bishop saw the relief wash over Ylva as she got off her mare mused if this was the call of home. Never having a real home he didn't know for sure. He envied her for it.

"I'm so tired I'm ready to jump into bed straight away", she said after they had relieved the horses of the saddles and the bags and went inside the lodge.

"Want me to help you out of your armor first?", he winked at her, "I'll also share your bed – It may be a little cold just now."

"You don't stop trying, do you?", she managed a very tired smile. "It won't take long to get a fire going. And I have furs to keep me warm."

"It was worth a shot", he grinned back, "But I'm tired as well. I guess I can use the same bed again?"

"Sure."

After throwing some logs into the fireplace and lighting it Ylva went up the stairs to her bedroom but stopped to turn around one last time to say:

"Good night, ranger. Sleep well."

Bishop poked his head out of the small guest bedroom.

"Good night to you too ladyship. Catch some sleep."

She smiled again and disappeared in her bedroom. For a moment he stood still, watching the place she had been standing seconds ago. What was it with this woman that made him want to go after her and put his arms around her? Karnwyr was watching him with his head tilted to the side.

"What are you looking at?", he whispered to the wolf and turned around.

He peeled himself out of his armor and stretched his sore muscles. While he had gotten more accustomed to riding his legs hurt and the skin was sore. How did Ylva manage with her heavy armor? Imagining the tender skin of her legs quickly led to other thoughts. Sighing he slipped into his bed. He needed to have her for himself or he would go crazy with desire.

 

 

Midday had passed when Ylva finally woke to her grumbling belly. She had a good yawn and stretched. For the first time in days, she felt completely rested and fully awake. She got out of bed and went down the stairs to look for Bishop. The bed he had slept in was deserted and for a small moment, she feared he might have left. Then a delicious smell played around her nose and she heard noises coming from the kitchen.

Curious she went up to the kitchen just to find Bishop bend over the hearth. He looked up when she came closer.

"Ah, so you're finally awake", he greeted her, "I thought you had dropped dead. You do look like someone had raised you from the grave, though."

Looking down she realized she wore nothing more than her breeches and her shirt. Running a finger through her hair she tried to straighten the mess.

"Since when are you up?", she asked.

"An hour or so before midday. I thought you might want some breakfast/lunch when you finally got out of your coma. Lucky for you two rabbits just happened to have jumped in front of my bow."

"You have already been out hunting?", she must have been more exhausted as she had thought.

"And showering, too", he grinned cockily at her, "You might want to try that."

"Is there still time?", she said, nodding towards the boiling stew.

"Sure. And I don't want my food spoiled by your smell. You stink as if you had slept with a wet dog the whole night. I should know – Karnwyr was wet to the bone."

"OK, I get it", she turned around, "No need to be so rude about it."

She returned half an hour later with wet hair smelling of lavender, dressed in a blue dress.

"I didn't know you could cook", she sat down at the table, ruffling Karnwyr's head. The wolf lay curled under the table, enjoying his share of the rabbits.

"It is important to know how to feed yourself and get into the good favors of hungry Dragon ladies", he winked at her as he put down a steaming bowl in front of her.

"Just be happy that this Dragon lady is indeed to hungry to fight right now", she shot back. That made him laugh as he sat down across from her to eat. For a moment they both enjoyed the rabbit stew in silence. Ylva had to admit that the stew tasted better than anything she had eaten at a tavern.

"So, what's the plan?", Bishop looked up from his bowl, "We head out to Riverwood and try to find this friend of yours?"

"Pretty much", she replied, "After all we don't have any hints of who this friend is. Though I don't plan on going in unarmed. Trusting strangers you haven't met usually ends badly."

"Smart girl", he took a sip from his mug of ale, "So when do you want to leave?"

"I want to get this over with as soon as possible", she admitted, "After lunch, we head out."

 


	11. A Questionable Friend

 

 

About an hour later they entered the Sleeping Giants Inn. Ylva looked around for the innkeeper Delphine and found her bent over the alchemy table. She went up to the elder woman.

"Greetings Companion, what can I do for you?", the blond Breton greeted her.

"I'd like to rent the attic room", Ylva struggled against the urge to roll her eyes.

"Attic room, eh?", the other woman looked surprised, "Well... we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left. Make yourself at home."

Ylva turned to Bishop that just raised a brow and shrugged. Playing along she went into the small room. Was she to wait here until being approached?

"And what now?", Bishop looked at her just as puzzled as herself.

"I guess we wait", she replied.

The door opened and Delphine came in.

"So you're the Dragonborn I've been hearing so much about. I think you're looking for this", the woman handed Ylva the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, "We need to talk. Follow me."

This woman found the secret door, the one she had overlooked? Thinking about it she had to admit to herself that there always had been something off with the innkeeper. Interested to learn more she followed her into a bedroom on the right. Bishop closed the door behind them.

"Now we can talk", Delphine opened a secret door inside a wardrobe.

Going down a narrow staircase they entered a small basement, filled with rare alchemy ingredients. Involuntarily her hands reached for her axes, resting on the ax heads. Turning around Delphine's eyes narrowed in suspicion at Bishop.

"I know you. You're that sketchy ranger that has been lurking outside for a while", she turned to Ylva, "You should be more careful choosing your companions. This guy means trouble."

"Coming from the woman that lures me into her secret dungeon after stealing my treasure", Ylva replied sarcastically, "You better start talking or I will leave."

"I won't tell you anything with him in the room. He might be some Thalmor spy!", the other woman crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I trust him", she slammed her hands down onto the table standing in the middle of the room, "And if you don't start talking we will leave. What do you want from me?"

Bishop looked at her surprised – she trusted him? It has been a long time since anyone said that about him. Delphine glared at her angrily. "Fine. I didn't go to all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn't a Thalmor trap. I'm not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out."

"Go on. I'm listening", Ylva leaned back.

"Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn."

"Hard not to", Bishop cut in, "With everyone in Whiterun talking about it."

The innkeeper ignored his comment and continued: "I'm part of a group that's been looking for you... well, someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"Why are you looking for a Dragonborn?"

"We remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. You're the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?"

"That's none of your business", Ylva was fed up with this conversation.

"You're wrong. It is my business. You may be the only one that can stop these dragons. But you'll understand that soon enough."

"So what's the part you're not telling me?"

"Dragons aren't just coming back, they're coming back to life. They weren't gone somewhere for all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now, something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

Ylva frowned at her. "What makes you think dragons are coming back to life?"

"I know they are. I've visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I've figured out where the next one will come back to life. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything you want to know."

Sighing Ylva looked at the woman. "So where are we headed?"

"Kynesgrove. There's an ancient dragon burial near there. If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

"You mean straight away? Are you mad?"

"The dragon will not wait for you", Delphine seemed angry.

"I still don't plan to go fight a dragon without a single healing potion on me. If you don't have time to wait, we will meet you there."

"Don't waste time getting there", the other woman said.

"Come on Bishop, let's get going", Ylva turned around and went up the stairs.

 

Out on the fresh air, she took a deep breath. The nerve of this woman!

"I always knew there was something fishy about Delphine", Bishop was standing next to her, "There is something she isn't telling us."

She nodded. "Still, there is a chance she might be right and there is a dragon coming back to life just next to a small town. I need to make sure no one gets hurt by that dragon."

"You don't care for your life, do you?", Bishop cocked an eyebrow.

"Not when I've got you to watch my back", she winked at him.

 

"You look worried." Bishops voice startled her. He was riding beside her, his gaze casually drifting over their surroundings. They were following the Road close to the White River and had just past into Eastmarch.

"I hate coming close to Windhelm. Stormcloak patrols everywhere", she was looking around suspiciously.

"You're afraid to be ambushed, is that it?", he chuckled, "I pity the ones who are brave enough trying. Just shout and they will be running back home to their mommies."

"If it would always be that easy", she felt uneasy on the roads. There was no faster way to Kynesgrove however. If she really wanted to save those people, she would have to risk it.

 

Just as they crossed over the White River where it joined the Darkwater River they saw a patrol of ten soldiers and their leader coming up the road from Windhelm. Ylva froze inside and her hand twitched towards her axes. Forcing herself to sit upright she showed off the crest of the Companions.

The leader of the Stormcloaks made his soldiers halt and came over. She forced a smile on her face, hoping they would not recognize her.

"Hold there, travelers", he said, "What's your business here and where are you headed?"

"The Companions have been called to assist the people of Kynesgrove", she replied calmly.

The Nord looked at her armor, recognizing the crest and nodded. Looking her in the eyes however he squinted.

"You look familiar", he said, "Have we met?"

Ylva certainly hoped she hadn't and shook her head. "Maybe you've seen me with my Shield-Siblings on a mission."

"Maybe", the Nord looked at Bishop, "And who is this? He is not wearing any Companion armor. Nor does he look like one."

"He is a new recruit and is to assist me with my job at Kynesgrove. I am to test his worth in battle", she quickly lied.

"I knew the Companions were a little short of new recruits – but this one doesn't look like a warrior to me", the Stormcloak replied his gaze fixed on the ranger.

"With training, you can make a warrior out of any true Nord – it's in our blood", Ylva's grip on her reigns tightened. Either they would let them pass or she would have to wipe them out.

After a seemingly endless moment had passed the Stormcloak leader turned back to Ylva. "You may pass. But if I should get news of anything strange happening at Kynesgrove I will make sure to find you again – I never forget a face."

When they were out of hearing range Ylva sighed with relief. That had been close.

"A new recruit?", Bishop came up beside her.

"It was the best I could come up with", she smiled apologetically.

"I'd like to see you making a warrior out of me", he winked at her.

"Don't test me", she winked at him, "I may have some ideas what I'd make you do."

"I'll gladly prove my worth to you", he replied grinning. Laughing they rode on.

They put up camp close to Mixwater Mill since the night was fast approaching and the air smelled of snow. She hoped that they would be in time to see what's been waking the dragons.

 

 

The next day Bishop and Ylva passed Windhelm two hours before midday and turned on the road leading to Riften. The weather had turned from cloudy with sunshine to a snowstorm that made it hard to see anything, let alone fight.

"What do you think", Ylva asked when they were close to the little settlement, "Will Delphine be there?"

"She's on foot so she is slower. But if she hasn't stopped during the night she might just make it", Bishop answered.

As they turned left on the path up to Kynesgrove they were greeted by the blond Breton.

"So you finally show up", Delphine greeted them, "I hope we are not too late."

Ylva shot her an angry glance. "I hope your theory is right and this is not a waste of time."

Just as they tied the horses to a post outside the inn a woman came running towards them.

"Help! A dragon. It's attacking!", she shouted.

"Where is it?", Ylva's heart began to pound wildly – Delphine had been right.

"It flew over and landed on the old burial mound – if I were you I'd run", the woman was already turning around, running down the path to Windhelm.

"Let's go find that Dragon", Delphine ran up a small path leading to the mine and further up. Ylva and Bishop followed.

 

They found the burial mound with a black dragon hovering above it. Ylva's heart stopped beating for a moment. She knew the dragon – it was the same black monster that she had seen in Helgen.

"Alduin", she whispered fearfully. Unable to move she starred at the beast. Bishop saw her being frozen in fear and pulled her behind a rock out of view.

"Get a grip on yourself, ladyship", he whispered in her ear, "You won't fight him today."

Alduin opened his pitch black maul and the voice that escaped was deep and rumbled.

"Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse! SLEN TIID VO!"

The Thu'um made the air vibrate with power. It echoed within Ylva. The dragon souls inside her woke, letting power rush through her as the souls cried out to their master. The air itself was filled with energy. A loud explosion from the burial mound drew their attention away from the black monster.

In front of their very eyes, a skeleton climbed out of the mound. It roared as flesh, muscles, and skin formed by a magic as old as time. His form completely restored, the dragon bowed to Alduin. 

"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir."

Suddenly the World Eater turned – looking straight at their hiding spot. Ylva felt his red eyes boring deep inside her heart.

"Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koraav nid nol dov do hi."

 _So, my false Dragonborn? I do not recognize you as dragon._ The words formed in her mind – was it the dragon souls within her translating for her?

Alduin roared, then spoke again: "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah."

He turned to the other dragon. "Sahloknir, krii daar joorre." – _Sahloknir, kill these mortals._

„FIGHT!", Ylva shouted, jumping out of their hideout. Her will to live was stronger than the fear of the black beast.

The dragon turned to face them. His roaring voice ringed in their ears.

"I am Sahloknir – hear my voice and despair!"

"You wish", Bishop's arrow dug into his wing. Sahloknir spread his wings, setting off.

"Aim for his wings, we have to get him down", Ylva shouted, firing arrow after arrow at the beast that circled them above.

"FO KRAH DIIN", the dragon spat ice from his maul while diving down. The trio jumped out of the Frost Breath's way.

Ylva heard Bishop grunt in pain – had he been struck? Fear for his life was quickly replaced by anger. She would have this dragon's soul – she would rip it out with her bare hand if she would have to.

As the dragon prepared another dive she drew in her breath. "YOL TOOR!"

Flames shout out from her mouth, hitting Sahloknir head on. The beast roared, shaking his head to put out the flames.

"NOW!", Ylva shouted, drawing her bow. Arrows whistled through the air and tore holes in the leathery skin of the dragon's wings.

"I see that mortals have become arrogant while I slept", Sahloknir came down.

Delphine drew out her sword, aiming for the wings. "I'll kill you, you son of a bitch."

Laughing gruesomely the beast hit her with his wing, throwing the Breton to the ground.

"SU!", her axes hit the dragon's throat, tearing at his scales. The dragon was stronger than the ones she had faced before. She barely dodged his sharp teeth.

"Dovahkiin, your voice is no match for mine! YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Pain exploded in her arm and she nearly dropped her weapon as the flame scorched her skin. Screaming in agony she managed to shout "FEIM!".

The pain stopped as the stepped into the void. Frustrated the dragon bit into her shadow form but his fangs went through her. She jumped back, feeling herself already returning from the void.

Arrows digging deep into the dragon's skin drew its attention away. Bishop was circling the beast letting loose arrow after arrow. Ylva used the short moment to pull out a potion of healing, drinking quickly to ease the pain.

She stormed towards the beast, just as his sharp teeth dug into Bishop's arm. His scream rang in her ears.

"I'll make you PAY!" She jumped in the air, landing on the dragons back. "SU!" Wildly she hacked her axes into its flesh. As the last breath left the beast she jumped off and ran to Bishop.

Between his fingers pressed on his arm red blood dripped down. Ylva quickly pulled out a potion from her pouch, uncorking it.

"Drink this", she put the vile to his lips and he obeyed, emptying the vile in one go.

"Let me see the damage", she tried to get off his gauntlet.

"Stop pestering me, ladyship", he said through gritted teeth.

"Bishop!", warningly she glared at him.

"I can take care of myself", he returned her gaze just as fierce.

"I'll be damned, you did it!", Delphine's voice reminded her that there were other things needing her attention. She gave Bishop another potion and turned to Delphine.

"That was well done. Come on. I've been wanting a closer look at one of these buggers", the Breton was walking closer to the scaled monster.

Since Ylva had jumped off just as it was dying it hadn't yet been consumed. Now as she came closer the flames engulfed the dragon.

"Wait. Something's happening... gods above!" Delphine watched in awe as the gold mist of the dragon's soul surrounded the warrior. With a grim satisfaction, she felt the soul being drawn into her. It's strength now was hers. _Whose Voice was no match again?_ she mocked the dragon.

"So you really are... I... it's true, isn't it? You really are Dragonborn."

Ylva turned to the elder woman. "Yes. And now you owe me some answers."

The other woman nodded. "Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

 


	12. Fire and its Consequences

It turned out that Delphine belonged to an old order of dragonslayers. Apart from that, she knew very little of anything related to the dragons returning.

"The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren't involved, they'll know who is."

"The Thalmor, are you out of your mind?", Ylva couldn't believe this woman. How should an order of High Elf supremacists have woken Alduin?

"Who else gains from these dragon attacks?", the other woman seemed oblivious of how crazy she sounded, "The Empire had captured Ulfric. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened."

"That wasn't just any dragon we saw there – that was ALDUIN! How in the nine's names should the Thalmor have managed to raise him?!"

Delphine's eyes popped open in shock. "How do you know it was Alduin?"

"Are you deaf? The woken dragon called his name. And does _the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled_ ring a bell?", Ylva massaged the bridge of her nose.

The Breton was silent for a moment.

"The Thalmor are still the best bet. We need to get into their Embassy, it's their center of operations in Skyrim."

"Get into their embassy? You are out of your mind after all!"

"We need to know what they know about the dragons", the elder woman insisted, "Meet me back in Riverwood. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long. Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse."

With that Delphine turned around and left. Shaking her head in disbelief Ylva returned to Bishop.

"How do you feel?", she asked worriedly.

"I'm fine", he pulled his injured arm away from her.

"Do you think you'll manage going down to the inn? I could use some mead."

"I'll manage", he replied.

The inn was still empty when they got there – the residents must have all fled to Windhelm as the dragon attacked. Since no one was around to serve them Ylva got some water and ale from her saddlebacks.

"Will you let me see the bite now?", she said.

"You don't give up, do you?", Bishop reluctantly let her pull off his gauntlet. The healing potions he had drunk had taken care of the worst. Carefully she cleaned out the bite with water. Bishop bit his lip. She put some healing potion on the wound and wrapped it in some clean bandages.

"Did the dragon hit you anywhere else?", she asked looking for any more blood.

"Nothing worth mentioning. The healing potion you gave me already took care of it", he replied.

"Good", Ylva leaned back in her chair. She felt tired. The rush of battle had gone, and exhaustion washed over her.

 

"YLVA!" Bishop barely managed to catch her as she slid from the chair. She had lost consciousness, her head dropping to the side exposing scorched skin below her armor. He gathered her up into his arms – she felt surprisingly light for all the metal she wore – and carried her over to one of the rooms. Carefully he peeled her out of her armor. The skin of the right side of her body was melted – how she had been able to continue fighting was beyond him.

Her linen shirt had partly melted into her skin – he had to cut and rip it away from her flesh. Thankfully she was unconscious. He washed her with the rest of the water left in the waterskin before dumping two large bottles of healing potion on her skin, forcing a third down her throat.

"What is going on here!", a voice exclaimed behind him. Turning around he saw the same woman that had warned them of the dragon.

"Do you have a healer anywhere?", he shouted, "She is badly wounded."

"There is the dunmer...", the woman replied hesitantly.

"Get the dunmer then!", Bishop turned back to Ylva.

"Damn, ladyship. When I thought I'll get you in my bed I didn't mean it this way", he cursed. Karnwyr sniffed her boots and whimpered.

"It's going to be all right", he tried to calm the wolf.

A dunmer woman came into the room.

"What happened?", she looked from Bishop to the half-naked wounded woman on the bed.

"She fought the dragon. I used three potions already, but the wounds won't heal", the ranger looked at the woman pleadingly.

"I'm no master in Restoration, but I'll try", the Dunmer cast a healing spell. The yellow light engulfed Ylva. Under its influence, her skin began to mend. Worried Bishop watched the magician work.

"This should do it", the magician put a blanket over her, "She needs some rest now but tomorrow she should be able to travel again."

"Thank you", Bishop could barely take his eyes of Ylva to face the Dunmer.

"No need – thanks to you and your woman, we still have a home", the magician turned and left the room.

 _My woman?_ Bishop thought just as the Dark elf closed the door. It was a good thing Ylva was still unconscious. He doubted she would have liked being called that. The ranger took a chair and put it next to the bed to watch over her.

The color had returned to her face. She looked almost like she was sleeping peacefully, had it not been it not for the splatters of blood and the smudged paint. The scars on her temple and her left cheek shone white against the warm skin. Gently he traced them with a finger, careful not to wake her. They were hard and stood out against her soft skin, must have been caused by deep cuts. What kind of animal had claws like that? And why hadn't she taken care of them right away? When tended to immediately with potions or a spell even deep wounds hardly left a trace. The scorched skin of her right arm had fully healed, even her tattoo had been restored by magic.

Ylva moved and he quickly pulled his hand away. Her eyes fluttered open, looking at him.

"Bishop?", she asked with a ragged voice.

"I'm here ladyship", he said.

"What happened?", she wanted to sit up, but noticing her bare skin under the blanket she quickly lay back down, her cheeks flushing red, "And why am I naked?"

"Only half-naked", he corrected her, "I had to treat your wound. Seriously ladyship, why didn't you say something sooner?"

"Wound?", she looked puzzled for a moment, then the memory hit her, "That Fire Breath hit me - but I took a healing potion - it should have healed!"

"Not a wound so large - your arm and your whole side had been scorched. I don't know how you could still fight, let alone walk", he shook his head, "It took three potions and the help of a mage to fix you up."

"But I've been hit by fire before – a potion or two usually was enough to heal."

"Maybe this dragon's flame was special – besides some scorched leather your armor showed no mark. Anyways", he stood up, "Get some rest, I'll go and look if I can find the innkeeper anywhere and pay her for the room."

When Ylva was sure Bishop wouldn't come back straight away she drew back the blanket. The newly healed skin was still a reddish pink and tender to the touch. Luckily her tattoo had survived the process – that extra gold for enchanted ink had paid off, after all. Wrapping the blanket tightly around her body she got out of bed, looking for the top part of her armor. It looked darker and, just as Bishop had said, some of the leather parts were scorched and the fur on her right gauntlet turned black. She would need to fix it before going on another mission – or facing another blasted dragon.

Sahloknir had been stronger than any other dragon she had faced thus far. She wondered how much stronger Alduin must be if one dragon could nearly kill her. Her Wolf armor would not protect her against such an opponent any longer. She needed to find a way to forge armor out of the scales and bones of the dragons she had slain thus far. While the bones could be set aflame they burned longer – it almost took a day to burn down a complete skeleton. Nor did they burn as hot. Scales didn't burn at all, nor did they freeze. Maybe she could come up with something with some testing.

"You should not be out of bed", Bishop had returned carrying her saddle. The look of disapproval and concern brought a smile to her face. _He really worries about me._

"I'm fine", she said and stood up. Her vision turned black with white spots and she felt dizzy. A hand steadied her.

"Fine my ass", his deep voice next to her ear made the hairs on her neck stand up.

"All right, I'll get back to bed", she resigned.

"That's a good girl", Bishop only let her arm go once she was sitting safely on the bed.

"The innkeeper will bring you something to eat", he said.

"What about you?", Ylva, her vision returning, looked at him questioningly.

"I have to set up the tent first. Turns out yours is the only spare bed this inn has", he smirked at her.

"Wait, you mean you're going to sleep outside?", she felt uncomfortable with sleeping in a bed knowing he would be outside on the cold hard ground.

"Want me to share your bed? And here I thought you weren't the cuddly type", his wolfish grin brought back the color to her cheeks.

"A cold night might bring you back to your senses", she replied coldly.

"Whatever my lady commands", theatrically he bowed.

 

Ylva was up early the next morning saddling Allie. Overnight the redness of her skin and the soreness of her muscles had gone away. She felt restored and eager to begone from Kynesgrove and Eastmarch.

"Good morning, ladyship."

"Morning, ranger", she turned around, "How is your arm?"

"Good. And by the looks you are feeling better again, too", he said.

"Yes, much better", she smiled at him, "Thank you, you saved my life yesterday."

"It was mostly the Dunmer doing the saving", he admitted. His honestly surprised her.

"Still, thank you."

"Well, you're back on your feet. That's all that matters.", he quickly wanted to change the subject, "Where are we headed next?"

"Since we're already this side of the Throat of the World I'd say Ivarstead and from there High Hrothgar. Maybe the Greybeards will be more talkative when I deliver the horn", she suggested.

Some idea must have crossed his mind as a smile crept on his face. "Ivarstead it is then. How about you let me lead this time?"

She raised an eyebrow in question. What was he planning?

"Come on, I bet you'd love to admire my ass for once", he winked at her.

"If you put it that way, how can I say no?", she smiled in response. Whatever he intended to do, the prospect of not having to be in charge for once was tempting - almost as tempting as the ranger. "Just let me just take care of something first."

 

Ylva found the Dunmer down in the mine. The woman was inspecting the spells protecting the walls from caving in when she approached her.

"You're back on your feet?", the Dark elf turned around to greet her.

"Yes", the warrior nodded, "And I've been told you've played a vital part in that. I wanted to thank you. The name's Ylva."

"Dravynea Stoneweaver", the woman answered. "The healing potions you have been given were already at work. I just helped with my magic. Though I must admit I have never seen burns like yours. From what I've been told you were the one to slay the dragon – you've protected us and our homes. Healing your wounds was the least I could do."

"There still might be dragons about. Keep an eye out. If there ever is another attack send word to Jorrvaskr – I will come if I can."

 

Whatever Ylva tried Bishop kept his plans a secret. He led her up the road past the Fort Mistwatch and close to the Darkwater River. They rode without rushing, chatting about everything and nothing. Was he waiting for a specific moment? Or was he delaying on purpose? If they would continue, the sun would be long gone before they made it to Ivarstead. Any chance of performing at the inn would be gone.

The sun was starting to set when they came close to the Bridge across the Treva River when Bishop steered Balo to the right next to a smaller bridge and dismounted.

"Princess, how do you feel about surprises?", he asked as he held out his hand to help her out of the saddle.

"Is this what you've been planning the whole day?", she looked around. Across the bridge was an old stone tower. If she remembered right it was called Nilheim.

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise", he smirked, "Come on, just follow me."

The ranger walked up the path to the watchtower. Curious she followed him. There were some guards sitting around a fire. They looked an awful lot like bandits, but as they didn't attack on sight she decided to ignore them for the moment. Bishop disappeared into the tower and she had to hurry after him. He was waiting for her when she made it up the small flight of stairs leading to a small wooden platform.

The view was breathtaking. From where they stood she could see all the way up to Windhelm and even farther. Below their feet, the waters of Lake Geir rushed down in a waterfall, bringing forth the Darkwater River. The setting painted the few clouds on the sky in warm red and orange tones.

"Well, here we are. It's no Throat of the World but it's mine. Well, partly mine. A long time ago. My first home in Skyrim", memories echoed in his honey eyes.

"This is beautiful", Ylva smiled, enjoying the beauty of the view. Still, she had a feeling the view wasn't the only thing he wanted to show her. "Why have you brought me here?"

"It's where I found Karnwyr as a cub", he gently scratched the wolf's ears. The animal looked at his brother lovingly.

"I haven't been here for...Damn, always feels longer than it actually is. I never brought anyone here before", Bishop looked at her, trying to read her face.

"That's very sweet", Ylva let her gaze wander into the distance before coming back to him, "It must mean a lot to you."

He stepped closer to her, a smile spreading on his face. "Yeah, yeah it does." Lost in memories he didn't continue straight away and stared off into the distance. Ylva was fascinated by this new side of him and did not want to spook him out of it.

"This tower is still standing because of a man I once knew. He's...gone now." A shadow passed over his face, but when he turned to look at her again his eyes shone brightly. "Anyway. I made the first good decision in my life here. I wanted to make you a part of it..."

He chuckled to himself, "Ugh, I'm still not being clear, am I?"

She slightly shook her head, beckoning him to continue.

"You're here because...Trust doesn't come easy for me. For me, this is the most important place in Skyrim. I wanted you to know..."

"Where's Bishop and what have you done with him?", she still wasn't sure what to do with the new side he was showing her.

"Oh for...really?" he brushed a hand through his short brown hair in frustration, "Bishop is standing right here and took a chance and told you he trusts you. Are you willing to do the same, to trust me?"

"You know I do. You've never given me a reason not to", she smiled. Her heart was pounding so wildly it hurt and she felt as if the dragon souls within her had all decided now would be the perfect time to have a dance party in her stomach.

"Then let me give you more reason to", the ranger put a hand on her back and gently drew her closer to him. The scent of autumn leaves, of earth and of mead filled her nose as her hazel eyes looked up into his honey orbs. His other hand cupped her face, a finger curling under her chin, bringing it closer to his. She could feel the warmth of his skin on her lips. Leaning into his touch she enjoyed the roughness of his fingers, as her eyes were dancing back and forth between his lips and his mesmerizing eyes.

Like the waves of the Sea of Ghosts crushing against the cliffs of Winterhold, he crushed into her. His lips were both rough and soft. She tasted salt and honey and leaned in, parting her lips hungry for more. Encouraged, his tongue ghosted against hers only to come back to pull her into an intimate dance making her blood boil. She pressed herself against him, feeling the heat of his body even through his leather armor. Her hand found the back of his neck, anchoring her as their kiss deepened even more. The hand on her face wandered down her neck, caressing the few inches of exposed skin. His touch left her skin burning for more. It was as if something inside her had been unlocked. Instincts drove her, and she felt a hunger unlike any before.

He was the first to pull back, gasping for air. Surprised she realized her own dizziness. All feeling for time had left her when his lips had met hers. Slowly her mind began to work again.

"You just kissed me.", she whispered.

"You only just noticed?", she didn't need to look up to know he was smirking.

"It was kind of hard to miss", her eyes found his. The hunger in them matched the one still burning inside her. A laugh escaped his lips. "If I'd known you'd react like this I would've done it sooner."

He let go of her and cleared his throat. The magic of the moment was gone.

"Yeah, so...I'm not exactly a romance kinda guy. Come on. Let's get going to Ivarstead. I'd rather sleep in a bed tonight."

"That was pretty damn romantic if you ask me", she winked at him. After a final look into the distance, she nodded.

"Let's get going then."

That night she lay awake in her bed, reliving the kiss again and again. The taste of his mouth, the tickling sensation of his stubble, his burning fingers on her skin. Just thinking about him made her lust for more. His scent still lingered in her nose. He smelled like the woods of the Rift, of leaves and earth, mixed with musky male and honey.

Never had she been drawn to another man the way she was to him. She longed for him, wanted more of the addictive smell of his lips and his body. Bishop had woken a part of her, she hadn't known existed. A wild side full of...hunger. It felt as if he had spoken to the beast within her but then again not. The hunger she felt was different from the one she felt when the moons were close to their whole form.

How come one man had so much power over her? How could a simple kiss leave her wide awake at night? She felt ashamed – the World Eater had returned; the world's end was near unless she found a way to save it - and all she could think of was the ranger sleeping in the room next door. The gods had a cruel sense of humor.


	13. Ysmir

Ylva wasn't sure how to act around the ranger the next morning. The kiss had opened a door she was afraid to pass through. She wanted him, there was no doubt about it. Then again, she had a destiny to fulfill – a path perilous and deadly. A path she didn't want to share with anyone she cared for – never would she be able to forgive herself if someone she cherished would be hurt or killed on her behalf.

"A draugr in broad daylight? Oh, it's just you ladyship", Bishop greeted her with a smirk.

"You are as rude as ever", she replied, the heaviness in her chest eased. His attitude hadn't changed around her and she was thankful for it.

They left the horses at the inn, the climb being too steep for their steads. Kynareth seemed in a good mood, letting the sun shine down on the two travelers. With the goddess of the wind on their side, they made good way and arrived at High Hrothgar shortly after midday.

 

The monks were waiting for them. Ylva delivered the Horn to the elder monks. Arngeir lead them to the middle chamber where the other three had gathered. The warrior was given the last Rotmulaag to complete the shout Unrelenting Force.

Bishop retreated to the wall, knowing he had no part in the rituals of the strange monks. These were now surrounding Ylva and spoke to her:

"You have completed your training, Dragonborn. We would Speak to you. Stand between us and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards. But you are ready."

The ranger kept his gaze fixed on her. She was proud and fierce. Her hazel eyes observed the monk she was facing. Straightening her back she readied herself for the Voice to come.

"Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul..." the air vibrated with power. Bishop's hands shot up to cover his ears. They rang loudly and his skull felt as if it was being crushed open. He tasted blood in his mouth and sank to the floor. Karnwyr lay next to him, whimpering miserably. Struggling against the power pushing him down Bishop looked over to Ylva. Sweat was forming on her temples, she was trembling against with strain but she remained standing. How did she manage to _do_ that?

"... Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."

With the last word spoken the power was gone. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off the ranger. Shaking his head to clear his senses he got up on his feet. His head still hurt and a look to Karnwyr showed that the wolf was in no better shape.

"Dovahkiin. You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you."

Ylva sensed her chance to ask about the prophecies: "Can you tell me about the dragons returning?"

Arngeir shook his head. "Your destiny will be revealed before you. You should concentrate on honing your Voice. Try finding the Words carved in the Dragon tongue – that should be a sufficient test of your abilities."

"Why can't you just tell me? Why do I have to go seek these words?", Ylva's tone suggested she was fed up with the riddles.

"Growing your gift too quickly would be dangerous", the monk replied, "Now go. Sky above, Voice within."

Ylva looked around to find Bishop sitting on a bench, messaging his temples. Their eyes met and she nodded towards the door. He was eager to leave the place and the feeling seemed mutual.

"You look pale, are you alright?", she turned to him as they moved down the stairs.

"Just got a headache", he murmured. The unleashed Power of the Greybeards seemingly had no lasting effect on her.

"Too bad we've run low on health potions. We could barely survive another dragon attack as it is now. We need to get back to the Lodge", she sighed.

"What was it the Greybeards said to you anyway?", he tried to distract himself from the throbbing in his head. The cool air helped a little.

"That's the strange thing – when they spoke to me I understood each word", she tried to remember what the voice within her had said.

"Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath, we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it."

"Ysmir – Dragon of the North", the unfamiliar name rolled from his tongue.

"Don't use it", she shuddered, "The title Dragonborn alone has brought me enough trouble. I don't want to be called the same name with whom Talos was once greeted."

"Don't worry, Ladyship", he managed to smile.

"Let's go home, Bishop", she looked longingly into the distance.

"Yes", he was gazing at her, "Let's go home."

 

 

Seeing Riverside Lodge at the end of a long day in the saddle brought a relieve Bishop had never felt possible. He began to understand what home felt like.

"Finally", the smooth voice next to him sighed full with relief.

"I could really use a long warm bath now", he joked.

"Go ahead if you want – I'm tired", she got down from Allie and unbound the saddle.

"What is your next plan?", Bishop asked as he took care of his own saddle, "Will you seek out Delphine?"

"That crazy woman can kiss my ass", Ylva snorted, "No, I got more urgent business in Jorrvaskr. And I need to repair my armor. Maybe Elrond has some ideas for me."

"Sounds like we will be staying for a while", he walked beside her.

"I know you don't like being stuck at a place", she apologized, "I hope you won't become too bored."

"The plains of Whiterun are a perfect hunting ground, so don't worry. And maybe I can help you with your potions?"

The smile on her face was almost blinding. "Thank you."

Without thinking he leaned forward and brushed his lips shortly against hers. A small kiss, not enough to ignite the fire they had shared at the tower, but enough to send a shiver down his spine. This woman was truly addicting. She smelled of mountain flowers, of snowberries and of something feral and wild he couldn't put his finger on. Her lips were soft and sweet and the surprised giggle he drew from her made him want to do much more. _Patience,_ he thought, she was no prey that easily fell. _Or was she a prey at all?_ He shushed the small voice inside his head.

"Come on – our beds are waiting", she unlocked the door.

When they reached the door to the guest room she turned to him and kissed him on the cheek.

"Sweet dreams to you, ranger", she whispered in his ear. A smile played around the corners of her lips as she disappeared up the stairways. Bishop was frozen in place. His heart was pounding and he had a fluttering feeling in his guts. Since when could a woman make him feel this way? After a quick look to be sure she was up in her room he turned around and closed the door. Karnwyr was watching him from his spot on the floor. The wolf's eyes glistered knowingly. Growling the ranger turned and slit out of his armor. No, he was just imagining things. His desire for her clouded his mind. He needed to have her, to feel that tender skin on his, savor the taste of her sweet lips.

Looking down he sighed. His lustful thoughts had raised more than he liked. Stifling a groan, he sat down on the bed. There was no helping it – she drove him crazy with lust and his body had a _hard_ time denying it. The picture of her naked back rose in his mind and he hungrily licked his lips. Maybe a little relief would take the edge off. 

The auburn-haired goddess in his head turned around to look at him – her smile promised him a wild adventure.

"What have we here?", her smooth voice formed in his mind, "You come with a raised sword at an unarmed woman? Is that an ambush?"

A wolfish grin spread on his face. "I'm sure you can defend yourself just right..."

"A claymore in the hands of an untrained fighter is dangerous", she leaned forward, kissing his neck. The warm skin of her firm breasts rubbed against his chest, making his heart pound even faster.

"A skilled fighter like yourself will know what to do", Bishop grinned.

A smile flashed on her face as she kissed her way downwards. Her smooth lips left a hot trail, making his skin burn for more. Her surprisingly soft hands touched his twitching member, stroking his length. A soft moan escaped his lips as he buried his hands in her auburn mane. Hazel eyes looked up to him, something wild shining in them. She kissed the tip of his manhood, not slowing down in her strokes. He felt himself tense – he wouldn't last very long at this pace.

With a small moan, she took him into her mouth. Her hot and sweet tongue danced around his length, making his breath ragged. Unable to contain himself he moved in and out, her head bouncing up and down his manhood with him. Soft hands expertly reached down and gently squeezed his balls as she took him as far as she could. Feeling himself hit the back of her throat was his undoing. With a low growl, he emptied himself inside her warm and hot mouth. Her hungry eyes as she swallowed his load remained with him as he returned to reality. Looking down at the mess he had made he sighed – he would need to clean it up before she noticed.


	14. Gramp's Tales

 

He woke the next morning to the smell of crostatas in his nose. The door to his door was slightly open and Karnwyr was gone. He rose and put on his trousers, not bothering with his dirty shirt. The source of the delicious smell seemed to be the oven in the kitchen, but Ylva was nowhere to be found. Thinking that she couldn't be far he went outside. The air was foggy and it smelled of recent rain. Not being able to see the sun it was hard to guess the time, but it must be around midmorning.

Ylva was carefully harvesting leaves from the Nirnroots growing in her garden. Her wet hair was spilling over her shoulders. She wore leather breeches with black boots and a sturdy vest. So used to her wearing her armor the change of outfit made her seem like a new person. Karnwyr was laying next to her, only raising his head slightly to greet his pack brother.

"Finally up?", she had noticed him before he spoke her, "I was just about to wake you."

"How long have you been awake?", Bishop asked.

"I woke with the rising sun", she carefully put away the leaves, "Are you planning to go have a shower or are you trying to catch Rockjoint?"

"Why, don't you like what you see? Or do I distract you?", a playful grin spread on his face.

"Please – I grew up with the Companions – I've seen all my brothers half-naked at least once. Did you think you can impress me just by walking around without a shirt?", she winked at him, "If you need a change of clothes I can look through my dad's old stuff to see if there's something that might fit."

Disappointed that his plans were so easily uncovered he shrugged. "You might as well – I need to wash my stuff."

"I'll be going to Jorrvaskr after breakfast. If you want I can give your stuff to Tilma, she takes care of my laundry as well", she looked to her right where Whiterun could be seen through the mist.

"I'd rather take care of my own stuff", he admitted.

"Suit yourself", she put away the small harvesting knife, "I'll check on the crostatas in the oven."

The crostatas were perfect but still too hot for eating straight away. After setting them on the table she went up to the wardrobe in her room to see if there was anything left over from her father that would fit the ranger. Her father had been a tall broad Nord, at least as tall as her brothers were now – most of his old stuff would be too big for Bishop. Eventually, she found a pair of breeches and shirt that must have been from when her father had been younger and not as broad as she remembered him to be.

She put the clothes in Bishops room before going up to the kitchen to put the kettle on the hearth for the mountain flower tea she so loved. Waiting for the water to boil she sat down, enjoying the quietness of her home around her. Her Shield-Siblings have mocked her for hanging on to the old stuff of her parents – now she was happy she hadn't listened to them, nor would she ever have. This was hers, her history, her memories. She shared it with no one and it made her stand out among her siblings, among her pack. And now she could put it to good use, at least for some part.

The whistling of the kettle brought her back to reality. She put it away from the fire and threw in some dried leaves and flowers. Suddenly two strong and warm arms closed around her waist. He must have moved silently for she hadn't heard him approach, but his smell had warned her of his approach.

"What's this delicious smell?", he whispered in her ear, making her shiver.

"Breakfast", she answered, "It's not nice for you to sneak up on me. I could have easily killed you if I had thought you were an enemy."

"But you didn't", he lightly kissed her cheek and let her go.

He had put on the clothes she had laid out for him, though he had to wear a belt to make sure the breeches would not slip down.

"You look good", she admitted, "The white really suits you."

"It isn't weird for you that I wear your father's clothes?", he asked.

She looked at him for a moment then shook her head. "Maybe a little, but I mostly remember father in his Imperial armor. He came home as often as he could but never stayed very long. I bet he wouldn't mind that his clothes would finally get some use."

They both sit down and enjoyed the still warm but not too hot snowberry crostatas she had made.

"I will probably be at Jorrvaskr the whole day – I promised Kodlak to help him with something", she announced.

"Will you be staying late? I bet your friends want to hear your stories again", Bishop licked the remaining snowberry juice from his fingers.

"I don't know yet – depends on how many of my Shield-Siblings are there. Most likely only the whelps will be around – the Civil War has thinned the guards and the Companions are called upon frequently."

"Should I come to pick you up at the mead hall then?"

"That's a good idea. Will you be out hunting today?"

"Probably. I'm still a little low on coin", he winked at her.

"Take care then and keep an eye on the sky", the thought of him encountering bandits, or worse a dragon, without her being near made her worry. But she couldn't force him to sit around doing nothing. A wolf needed his freedom.

"Ladyship, I've survived in the wilds until now. I will come back, don't worry your pretty little head about me", he allayed her worries.

"I know you can stand your ground in battle – that still won't stop me from worrying."

 

Her prediction proved right – only the newest of the whelps were lurking around the mead hall as she got there. The others were scattered around Skyrim helping the people but would all return within a couple of days. Kodlak she found sitting in a corner of the great hall. The potions seemed to have taken effect – some of the greyness of his skin had subsided and he seemed to be spared the pain. He smiled when he saw her.

"Have you finished your business with the Greybeards?", he wanted to know.

"They have nothing more that they are willing to teach me, nor do they want to share more of their knowledge concerning the return of the dragons. Either they know nothing about it or they don't want to tell me, I'm not sure whatever it is", she answered, "I hope you have been more successful with your research."

"Matter of fact I might", he got up, "Let's get down to my study and let me show it to you."

 

While not being able to find the witch coven he had confirmed Ylva's theory of the seat of the witches' power. Kodlak had found multiple texts written from different people citing that giving the head of the witch that had laid the curse on somebody into a fire of cleansing would unleash their power. This power could tear the beast within from the soul, ridding oneself from the curse.

"A fire of cleansing", Ylva put the text she had studied down. "Might the flame in Ysgramor's tomb against the sea-ghosts work? It's said to clean the tomb of any foul ghosts that would disturb the Companions rest."

"My dreams suggest just that and there would be no greater place than to rid ourselves from this curse", Kodlak smiled happily.

"You do know that Aela is strongly against this? She has little faith in your dreams and claims Terrfyg knew all too well what inflicting this curse meant for him", Ylva observed his face. The topic was no easy one. Kodlak loved them both as if they were his own blood.

"I know", he sighed, "Especially after Skjor's passing. Aela wants to join him in the Hunting Grounds and I don't blame her. Have you decided yet?"

"I'm still not sure – I think it would be good to at least have someone that carries the blood. If the whelps have proven their worth I want them to be free to choose if they want this power for their own. But I want them to know the consequences – the hunger, the tainting of their souls. And I'm not sure where I would rather go – to my mother in the Hunting Grounds or to my father in Sovengarde."

"The choice is yours, Ylva. Your mother has given you the name of a wolf hoping that you would be just like her, a free and wild spirit. I see her in you, but also a lot of your father. An intent and smart man, strong and proud. I liked him very much", Kodlak smiled at her, "He would have only wished to see you happy."

Tears were burning hot in her eyes. Kodlak hardly spoke to her about her parents.

"What was mother like? You knew her better than anyone", she whispered, "Dad once said that."

"He did?", Kodlak smiled and leaned back in his chair, "Well, I knew her longer, that's true. Your mother was hot-headed and stubborn. She liked doing things her way and jumped into battle without planning ahead. Her skill with axes was beyond mastery and seeing you fight I must say you truly are your mother's daughter."

His expression became serious: "But when she turned she became a real beast. Only once I have seen her in a full moons rage – she was unstoppable – a black wolf with unmatched strength. Never in my life had I been so frightened, not even during the Great War."

How fearsome must her mother had been that even a skilled and strong warrior like Gramps had been so frightened? Ylva could only wonder.

"Your father was the only one that could get her back to her senses, always. He knew of her curse – she could hardly hide it from him. She couldn't control the blood as well as you, you see. Looking up into the full moons she would turn. With your father she could contain the beast, without him, she went on a rampage."

"That explains the long missions she would go whenever Dad wasn't coming", Ylva had to swallow hard – she had always suspected there has been something going on whenever her mother left her at Jorrvaskr and had been gone for days.

"When you were born, your mother wanted nothing more than to be with you, wanted to give you all the love she had. But she didn't want to harm you. She did what she had to do to protect you. It was the beast blood that kept her away from you – and it was the blood that eventually killed her", Kodlak's face hat become dark with grief.

"It was around full moons then, that mother had fought with the Silver Hand?", she couldn't stop her voice from shaking.

"It was."

"That's why you wouldn't let me see her body?", her voice was almost inaudible.

"I didn't want your last memory of your mother to be that of a monster", he admitted.

It felt as if a piece that she had been missing unknowingly had been set into place. As a child, her mother had always felt distant to her and she had blamed herself for it. Knowing that her mother had loved her so much to put herself in danger rather than her child was a healing balm to a deep wound. She could finally believe in her father's words – _she is only going away because she loves you very much, my little furball._

"I need a drink", Ylva admitted.

"Then go, pup", Kodlak nodded, "I feel tired and will lay down to rest."

 

She stepped out and hardly noticed the rain soaking her as her feet carried her to the Bannered Mare. The inn was rather empty as it was still only early afternoon. It wouldn't fill up till the evening, but then most of the townsfolk gathered in the cozy atmosphere.

Hulda took one look at her and silently placed a bottle of mead in front of her that she downed in one go.

"Bad news?", the innkeeper said as she put down the second.

Ylva shook her head. "A story from the past that I now finally understand, that's all."

The two women shared a moment of silence.

"Rumors had reached me that you will stick around for a while?", Hulda casually wiped down the countertop.

"Yes", Ylva gladly took the opportunity to change the topic.

"Perhaps long enough for one of your famous performances?", the innkeeper came straight down to business.

"Is Mikael chasing away your patrons with his sad songs again?", she managed a crooked smile, "I gladly come to sing and play the lute."

"That bard is lovesick again, you know how that goes", Hulda rolled her eyes, "How about you come to play the day after tomorrow? Until then I will have the word spread around town."

"Good – my fingers could certainly use some relief from battle now and then", the prospect of performing and singing lifted her spirits, "The usual arrangement?"

"As always - Drink is on the house and you get a third of the profits", the other woman smiled at her.

Ylva emptied her second bottle and got up to leave. "I presume these two will be included? If not write them on my tab."

That drew a hearted laughter from the other woman. "Belethor could learn a lot from bargaining with you."

 

 


	15. Curses and a new Assignment

 

The rest of the day went by uneventful. Reading through older works didn't turn up any new leads and Kodlak soon had to retire to his rooms again. Bishop had been more successful with his hunting – he had killed a deer and sold off most of the meat at the market, just keeping the best for a stew he planned to cook for them.

As he had offered to collect some ingredients for alchemy while hunting the next day Ylva went down to check her supplies, leaving the kitchen to him. On a piece of paper, she wrote down everything she was running short of – from the common blue Mountain Flowers to Nirnroot. Anything that would help her brew more powerful potions was more than welcome if she could come by the ingredients. Her family has had several skilled alchemists in their line that were smart enough to write down the recipes.

She had just enough time to pull out a book from her collection before Bishop announced that dinner was ready. His venison stew was incredibly delicious and surprised she noticed how hungry she had been.

"Hulda has asked me to perform at the Bannered Mare the day after tomorrow", she mentioned when she put down her spoon.

"Did she?", Bishop was just finishing his ale, "Great, I was wondering when I would get another chance to hear you sing."

"Oh?", she raised an eyebrow.

"True, seeing and hearing you shout an enemy into pieces can be fun. But I like it when you play your lute", he admitted.

"I haven't had you down for someone who enjoyed music", she teased.

"There still a lot for you to discover about me", he smiled mysteriously.

"You are telling me there is more to this sharp-tongued ranger than meets the eye?", she leaned forward, "I'll love to uncover more."

"I'm sure you will", he chuckled.

They continued their jests down in the study in front of the fireplace. Ylva read through some of the pages of the book she had picked up – it was filled with a collection of stories and myths, dated back to the second and third era from both Skyrim and Cyrodiil. Maybe in there, they would find some clue to the coven.

When her eyes became heavy she leaned back and sighed deeply. How long would they be hunting for information? It didn't matter if it was the coven or the return of the dragons – she seemed to be stuck.

"What's troubling you?", Bishop had been watching her.

"Gramps and I seem to be stuck with something. Then there's that whole dragon business. And I need to find a way to make better armor", she listed, "I' don't intend to get burned again."

"You forge your own armor?", the ranger was impressed, "Even though you can just go up to the best smith in Skyrim?"

"Eorlund is a busy man – most of my Siblings go to him for their stuff", she answered, "I was always drawn to the Skyforge as a pup and watched him when training was over. I think I got on his nerves asking questions so he made me do smaller tasks like tanning leather. Over the years he taught me a lot. It just makes sense to me to wear armor that I have forged myself. No one knows my fighting style and my expectations I have for my armor better than me. Don't you think so, too?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Your armor – I bet you've made it yourself. It fits you like a glove, not just your body, but also the way you fight. Either you had it made from someone that knows the way you fight by heart or you've made it yourself", she pointed out.

"A good eye you have there", he admitted, "Yes, I made my armor myself. But I'm only good with leather. Working on metal never really was my thing."

"Suit yourself. But you might think about it – if Skyforge Steel doesn't protect me against dragons, I doubt leather will do much better", she replied.

"Worried about me, princess?", he smirked.

Ylva put her hand on his arm and looked him straight into his amber eyes: "Yes, I worry about you."

Stunned by her honesty the ranger stayed silent, even as she stood up and came closer to him. Her fingers gently touched his face, her thumb lightly tracing the small scars on his left cheek.

"I don't want you to get hurt or killed, not on my watch", she admitted.

Without thinking she leaned forward and gently placed her lips on his, closing her eyes. She tasted the tartness of the ale he had been drinking on his warm lips. His hand reached into her auburn hair and came to rest at the back of her neck. The fire she had felt between them on the evening at the Nilheim Tower sparked again and she felt her heartbeat quicken. The tip of his tongue inquiringly touched her lips. She parted her lips and welcomed him. Their tongues fell into a slow and passionate dance. His thumb explored her throat, the roughness of his skin making her shiver with delight. Her own hand caressed the soft skin of his neck, pausing over his pulsing vein, feeling his heartbeat. By Talos, she wanted this man, wanted to feel more of him.

Gasping for air she pulled back, her eyes flying open. She looked straight into his honey orbs that had become dark with lust. Her mind felt clouded and lazy as she struggled to regain control over herself. Was this really what she wanted? Could she really allow herself to fall in love?

"I think I'll go to sleep know", she stammered, her face flushed red. Quickly she turned away and ran up the stairs. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated and looked back. He had gotten up and was watching her, a mixture of confusion, hurt and amusement showing on his face.

"Sleep well, Bishop", she whispered.

"Sweet dreams to you, princess", he replied, managing a wolfish grin.

 

He was already gone when she awoke early the next morning. She was glad she was spared the confrontation, but his early departure woke a familiar fear – what if he wouldn't come back? But he had taken the list of ingredients she had written down the day before - he must mean to come back then.

After running away from their kiss, she felt ashamed and torn. There was no doubt of the desire burning within her – a flame he had lit that she couldn't put out, no matter how much she had tried during the night. Sighing Ylva pushed the thoughts about Bishop into the back of her mind – she had other things to do.

 

Kodlak was already waiting for her and so they continued with their search, only pausing when the old warrior got too tired to continue. While he rested she went to the stores, selling off some of her loot and ordering ebony ingots. If the metal could be used to form something as disgusting as Deadric armor it might work with dragon bones and scales.

When evening came she left the hall to wait on the front steps, leaving her Siblings to dine alone. Kodlak had only raised an eyebrow when she had said her goodbyes and smiled. The old man seemed to look straight into her heart, then again, he always seemed to know what was troubling her.

The sun was long gone when she finally saw the familiar shape come up the stairs. Her heart leaped with joy.

"Are you waiting for your knight in shining armor?", he greeted her.

"You know damn well who I was waiting for", she grabbed his collar and put a fiery kiss on his lips.

"Maybe I should make it a habit of coming late if that's the welcome I get when I show up", Bishop grinned at her playfully.

"Don't you dare!", she let go of his collar, blushing, "What has taken you so long anyway?"

"Your stupid list! I tried to find as much as possible", he showed her his pouch, "I couldn't get everything, and I'm not sure if I have found the right ones. Do you have a book with drawings of the plants?"

He had collected a lot – blue mountain flowers, lavender, even some mushrooms.

"Thank you", she was overwhelmed with gratefulness.

"You're welcome", he beamed back at her.

"Still, tomorrow you got to be back by sunset, or you'll end up missing the performance", she warned him.

"I'll do my best", he promised.

They went back to the Lodge and enjoyed a quiet evening, she preparing potions from the ingredients he had brought her and the ranger his nose stuck in an alchemist lexicon that had drawings from most of the local fauna together with some basic recipes.

 

When Ylva came down from her bedroom the next morning the ranger and his wolf had already left. She had some time before she was to meet Kodlak again and resume their search, so she tried to make the most of it. The day before she had asked Eorlund for some advice concerning her wish to make armor out of the collected bones and scales. She had left a small piece of scales and bones to soak in warm water overnight. The heat of the nearby forge had kept the water warm but not boiling. Testing the scales first she was happy that they were finally flexible enough to make them bent any way she wanted it. 

The bones she was most surprised by. They let themselves be formed easily and she even managed to scratch some holes inside that would work as an anchor for the ebony binding she meant to put over it. Carefully she formed the bone into a shape that would work as a shoulder blade and secured it with strong weighs to let it cool and dry off. By then it was time she made herself ready for the day.

After a long hot shower, she put on one of her best linen shirts and breeches, shouldered her lute and made her way down to the city.

 

She was glad to see most of her siblings had arrived from their quests and apart from some small scratches and bruises all seemed in good health. Leaving them in the courtyard to train she went down with Kodlak to continue their hunt.

Between two chapters of a tale of a white stag she absentmindedly began to skim the latest job offers that were sent.

"Hunting down a pack of wolves – that's something Ria and Athis might manage together. Roughing up a merchant in Markath – that's something for Torvar, he likes fist fights. _An animal has invaded our home_...What's with all that small stuff lately? I get it that the guards can't be bothered by the small stuff 'cause their ranks are too thin but asking the companions because a skeever has invaded your home?"

Kodlak was looking up from his books. "Are you getting bored from helping me already? That's your mother shining through."

"No...yes...I don't know", she sighed and let her fingers brush through her hair, "It just feels like we're stuck. No matter how many stories I read I don't find any lead to this witch coven or anything related to it."

"Then you might want to take a look at this", he passed her the book he was just reading.

"The Glenmoril Witches? But they are usually connected to curing the beastblood in a bloody ritual – not cursing someone with the blood", she narrowed her eyebrows.

"Yet this tale talks about the witches and a plot to turn a guild into their loyal servants by the use of the curse – doesn't that sound familiar?", the old man shone with boyish excitement that made him appear decades younger than he was.

"Glenmoril Witches...I think I've read something about them before", she searched through the pile of books littering the table until she found the one she wanted, "Here –the last known witch was Melisandre, but there are also rumors of a coven of hagravens connected to the coven living in Falkreath. That might be it!"

"Falkreath, hm?", Kodlak's eyes fell to the letters asking for the Companions help, "Why don't you travel to Falkreath, ask around if you can find any further information but also take care of something else?"

"What did you have in mind?", she asked.

"There is a group of bandits that are particularly hard on the hold – they prey on travelers, killing the men and abducting the women. Lately, they even attack the locals. Jarl Siddgeir doesn't have the men to take care of the business so has asked us to take care of the problem."

A smile spread on her lips. "You want me to take care of them? Sure, my axes would love the exercise."

"Just be careful, they are said to rape women", he warned her.

"One more reason they should be dealt with", her voice grew cold with disgust.

"I had thought of sending Vilkas to do the job, but sending you would be killing two birds with one stone", he went on, "Just make sure you come back in one piece."

"Don't worry, Gramps", she smiled at him, "Shor is with me and Talos guides me."

He leaned forward, gently caressing her face. "How you've grown, my pup."

 


	16. Fights and Singing

Ylva went up to enjoy a bit of sunlight and warmth in the training courtyard. Athis and Torvar were sparring, Athis blades clashing against Torvar’s shield. She remembered both when they first came to join the Companions and she noticed their improvement. 

She was beginning to relax when her nose got a whiff of Bishop. Her inner beast had made her senses so sharp she could smell people and animals as soon as they were in 100 feet radius of her, with the right wind even farther. Excited she got up and followed her nose. There were others close by – was that both her brothers she smelled? Her pace quickened – where they at it again?

She turned around the corner to see both Vilkas and Farkas standing close to the ranger, cornering him against the stone wall separating Jorrvaskr from the rest of Whiterun. Vilkas’ left hand held his collar in an iron grip.

“Last chance, ranger”, Vilkas growled in a low voice, “You will take your wolf and you will leave our sister alone!”

“You can’t tell me what to do”, Bishop snarled back at the twins.

Vilkas raised his right arm and formed a fist. “If that’s your last word…”

“FUS ROH DA!”

The twins went flying through the air as the Thu’um hit them. Bishop managed to dodge the force wave, only because he had glimpsed Ylva as she had stormed towards them. Angry she now stood before him, facing her brothers.

“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU!”, she shouted, not caring who was listening.

The brothers were already getting up again. Farkas looked at her with the eyes of a guilty puppy, but today she wouldn’t be swayed.

“It’s not your fucking business who I travel with, haven’t I made myself clear the last time?”, she was fuming.

“You’re our sister – we won’t let you travel with some ranger that clearly just follows you around because he wants to bed you!”, Vilkas roared.

“This ranger has saved my life at least once and my ass at least a dozen times!”, she snapped back at him, “He has stood by me when we fought dragons and has never given me a reason to doubt him or his honor. If he’s the wild beast you see in him he’s got twice the control that you have ever shown, brother.”

She turned her head to the side, showing the deep scars on her face. It was a hard blow and she knew it was unfair to bring it up. Vilkas face became unmoving and cold.

“Fine. Then let the people talk about you and your lover behind your back. But that’s not how you bring honor to the Companions!”

“You dare talk to me about honor!”, she was shouting so loudly they were starting to draw a crowd, “You who shared the bed with any girl that was willing to!”

She straightened her back, standing solid as a rock.

“I am Ylva of the Twice-Named Clan, daughter to Bodil Axe-Dancer of the Twice-Named Clan and Haldor Shield-Breaker, captain of the Imperial Legion. I am Thane of Whiterun and the Dragon of the North. You don’t get to talk to me about honor!”

Looking over her shoulder to Bishop she muttered, “Come, let’s get to the Bannered Mare – Hulda will be waiting.”

Ylva glared at Vilkas as she strode past her brothers. Farkas looked at her pleadingly, she knew well that his twin had put him up to it. She was still fuming as the doors of the Bannered Mare closed behind her.

Looking around she saw many familiar faces all looking at her. _They probably have heard the fight –_ she thought to herself. Sighing she made her way to the counter, ordering two pints of mead. The first she downed in one go, the second she gave to Bishop.

“Are you all right?”, she asked quietly, “Have my brothers hurt you?”

“Tch – as if they could hurt me”, he smirked, “Those two meatheads are way to slow for me.”

“Still, I’m sorry”, she meant it.

“Well, you’ve put them in their place – and reminded me to never have a shouting match with you”, his quick wit calmed her down.

“Are you ready, Ylva?”, Hulda was cleaning a mug while observing her critically.

“I am, don’t worry”, she was ready to put the fight behind her. She moved towards the fire, picking a place that everyone could hear her and took a deep breath.

 

Bishop was watching her from the bar. She wore a red linen shirt with a belt over it, that let her shoulders show. Her tattoo covering her arms and back shone blue against her warm skin. Her toned legs were covered in black leather breeches and high boots. To his annoyance, many of the men in the room regarded her with open lewdness. They would never get her, though. She was his prey and he didn’t intend to share. Her slender fingers danced over her lute and with the first notes, the room went quiet.

It was a slow instrumental piece but it was captivating as it was calming. Had she chosen it because she wanted to calm herself? While he wouldn’t it admit it to her face, she had come just in time to save him from her brother’s fist. He would be sure to avoid coming too close to them in the future. They may be no match for him with their weapons out of reach but he knew that in close combat he was no match for them.

The soft melody ended, bringing him back to reality. All eyes were now on Ylva, a goddess painted in the red light of the fire. The townsfolk clapped and cheered. She smiled and bowed slightly before her fingers returned to her strings and began a new song – Mogo’s Mead, a favorite at the Bannered Mare. The people happily joined in during the chorus. The ranger and his wolf made his way to a spot on the wall where he had a good view.

Continuing with pleasing the crowd she sang Ragnar The Red followed by another instrumental piece. The ranger was so focused on her that he didn’t notice the other woman coming to stand next to him.

“Hey there handsome”, the voice whispering in his ear startled him. Irritated he turned his head to look at a short-haired Nord.

“My name is Neeshka. Do you think I’m pretty?”, she was fluttering her eyelashes seductively.

“I think you’re a pest. Get lost”, he was turning back to look at Ylva.

“How about a free bed for the night…”, her breath tickled his ear as she leaned closer, but not in a good kind of way.

“Go away flea”, while he wouldn’t have refused such an offer a couple of weeks ago he had no interest in this tavern wench. His eyes were glued to the singer by the fire, the auburn locks swaying with her songs as she let the music run through her body.

“You don’t need her, big man – I can fulfill all your desires”, her whispering voice was filled with unspoken promises.

“I already told you to get lost, flea. Maybe I should put you over my knee for being such a pest”, he was getting impatient. When would this wench finally get the hint?

“Would you? I like it rough.”

“Your testing my patience, flea”, Bishop pushed himself away from the wall and moved closer to the fire, leaving the wench behind.

 Ylva had seen him talking to the other woman and her blood was already starting to boil with anger. The other one was pretty, she’d give her that, but the deep cleavage and short skirt left not much room for imagination. She signaled Hulda for some refreshments, taking a short break as the innkeeper came with the desired mead.

“Who is that woman?”, Ylva asked in a low voice.

“The girl? That’s Neeshka. You know I had to find a replacement for Saadia after she was brought back to Hammerfell”, Hulda still sounded a little bitter, “She was a good worker, you know? Sure, she lied to me about everything and was not the most pleasant person to have around, but she knew how to wait tables.”

“And she was also a Thalmor spy”, Ylva added, “Well, your new waiter seems to have little interest in waiting tables and more in entertaining customers?”

Hulda made a disapproving sound. “I’ll remind her that the Bannered Mare is no whore house.”

Satisfied Ylva continued to play – Seven Septims for Sigurd had been requested and she sure didn’t want to disappoint.

Bishop now leaned against a column, his honey eyes fixed on her and a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. That she could bring him joy with her music made her really happy. While she knew the eyes of the whole tavern were on her she played as if they were alone, as if her tune was just meant for him.

The ranger’s smile broadened and he closed his eyes, enjoying the instrumental piece she was playing next. Karnwyr’s low growl made him aware of the approach of the wench. She sure was a persistent flea.

“Piss off, flea”, he said in a low voice.

“Will you stop calling me flea? I’m a tavern girl, not a flea”, she replied, crossing her arms in front of her.

“Because you’re a parasite, attaching yourself to a body to make use of it for food, protection or whatever. Until you move on to another body. Or are caught and get pinched to death”, he did not turn to look at her.

The wench took a moment before she answered “Okay, I get it. But you are what I desire in a man and I would be a fool if I didn’t give it every effort.”

Strategically she placed a hand on his arm and leaned closer so that he could feel her full breasts against his arm.

“Consider it given, now get lost”, he shook her hand off.

“I make a good belly warmer”, she blurted in a last attempt to get his attention.

“Not interested”, he hissed between his teeth. Ylva was looking at them, casting an ice-cold glance at the wench. Was that jealousy, maybe?

Neeshka was finally following his gaze. “What makes her so special?”, her voice had lost that seductive tone, now sounding sour and ugly.

“She just is. Now get lost”, Bishop was getting tired of repeating himself. He didn’t want to cause a scene but it became inevitable. Several heads had begun to turn their way.

“I’m better for you than her”, the wench wasn’t giving up just yet.

Bishop finally gave up and leaned closer to her. In a low and intimidating voice, he told her: “Get out of here now, or die, your choice.”

He had drawn his dagger; the blade barely touched the skin of her arm.

“Neeshka, would you come to help me at the counter?”, Hulda’s call came just in time.

“Fine”, she hissed, “I’ll just go then.”

The ranger made sure that the wench was at the far end of the inn before returning his attention to Ylva. She had observed the scene, though her fingers had continued playing.

 

The evening was getting late and the patrons were deep in their cups. Ylva’s throat was getting sore and her fingers were becoming tired. It was time to end the performance. There was one final song she wanted to sing, though.

“It’s time my friends”, she smiled into the many faces, “Here is the song I’m sure many of you have been waiting for.”

Her fingers strummed a melody Bishop had never heard before. Could it be that this was a song her own?

“Come closer come closer, my dear friends.  
The day’s nearly over and the night begins.  
Fill up your cups, put your bones to rest  
and hear this tale of a people blessed.

T’was the age of heroes, long since passed,  
in the Merethic Era, 500 stood fast.  
On Ysgramor’s word, scattered to the four winds  
journeying far fighting foes ever since.

On a day of spring in sweet Skyrim  
a crew of men, lay eyes on the hawk still  
guarding a beacon as it ever will.  
They saw the hawk, they knew the sign  
that this land would be theirs and their kind.

They lay down their weapons and worked the soil  
building a home without Mer to foil   
the joy and the laughter that hence could be heard  
 from the great hall of mead Jorrvaskr.

From that day on fourth through the years   
we’ve remembered the names  
of the crew long gone  
that once blessed us all with our home Whiterun!

Come closer come closer, my dear friends.  
The day’s now over and the night began.  
You’ve emptied up your cups, you’ve put your bones to rest  
and you heard this tale of a people blessed. “

With the last tune from her lute, the people cheered and applauded. Exhausted but happy Ylva bowed to her audience. She wanted nothing more than to drop dead into the nearest bed. But after the fight with her brothers, she’d rather not spent the night at the Mead Hall. She didn’t put it past Vilkas to try again. The room in the Bannered Mare was occupied by a stranger she had never seen in Whiterun before, that had wanted to have a drinking match with whoever was willing. Going back to the Lodge was the best option.

Looking around she found Bishop and Karnwyr settled at a table in the corner.

“Ready to go?”, she came over.

“And where to? It’s past Midnight”, the ranger yawned.

“You know it’s not far to the Lodge”, she said, “But if you rather share the bed of some tavern wench…”

Her eyes trailed to the girl wiping down the floor on the far side of the corner.

“I’ve got my eyes trained on a better target than some flea-bitten tavern wench”, he replied, a suggestive smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“The girl did seem rather taken with you”, she tried to be nonchalant about it, but her voice betrayed her.

“Must be my animal magnetism”, Bishop returned her gaze.

“I’ve noticed”, she winked at him.

“Is that right?”, in a swift motion, he pulled her onto his lap.

“Bishop, what are you doing?”, she squeaked and blushed deeply.

“What does it look like?”, he buried his face in her locks, gently kissing her neck. She shivered with delight.

“There are people watching”, she said, aware of the glances they were attracting.

“Let them watch, I don’t care”, he whispered in her ear.

“But I do”, she stood up ignoring his protest.

“I think you’ve had a little bit too much ale tonight. Let me pay up so we can leave”, Ylva was already on her way to the counter, collecting her share and paying his drinks.

Frustrated he watched her go. She resisted him still – but she couldn’t avoid him forever. The way she kissed him and the way she acted around him was proof enough that she was slowly falling for him. Just a bit longer and she would be in the palm of his hand.


	17. A new Armor

He awoke the next day to the sound of hammers falling on metal. Irritated and sleepy he got out of bed and went looking for the source of the noise. When he found Ylva by the forge he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t still dreaming.

The Nord wore short breeches and a thin black shirt with the sleeves rolled up that stuck to her skin. Her exposed skin shone wetly with sweat in the firelight. She looked as she had been cast from Corundum that had yet to cool down. Bishop felt the urge to grab her, push her against the stone wall and kiss her fiercely, tasting the salt on her lips. He swallowed hard, fighting against his desire. This was not the time to pounce on her. She needed to come to him, to go freely into his trap.

With as much willpower he could muster he turned around and went for the shower. His head needed cooling down and the painful throbbing in his pants needed relief.

Closing the door to the small cabin behind him he made sure that the door was securely shut. Groaning he let his pants slide to the floor, freeing his erection from the confinement of fabric. He stepped into the sauna. Someone had already heated up the fire – most likely Ylva, she surely would want to wash the sweat and dirt from her body later.

Leaning against the warm wood he closed his eyes. He imagined that she would come in, not expecting him to be there. Slowly she would peal herself of that black shirt sticking to her wet and hot body like a second skin. For a moment he watched her, taking in her form as she struggled to strip down. Then he stepped out of the shadow, approaching her from behind and pulled up the shirt.

“Bishop!”, her sweet voice rang in his ears, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Is that so”, he whispers, wrapping an arm around her waist as he dropped the shirt on the floor.

“You were waiting for me, weren’t you?”, she sounded amused, reluctantly giving in to his touch.

“Maybe, Ladyship”, his lips left a trail of kisses on her hot and salty skin. Ylva drew in her breath.

“What are you planning?”, she asked as she pressed her back against his chest.

“Giving you more reason to shower? Princess, I think you know damn well what I’m doing”, he turned her face towards his, kissing her deeply. His hands cupped her breasts and pinched her nipples, making her breath hitch.

Her hands reached around, wandering up and down his form.

“Where are your clothes?”, she exclaimed.

“On the floor – where yours out to be, too”, he turned her around and before she could protest locked her lips with his. His fingers peeled her expertly out of the breeches, leaving her exposed. Her skin was hot, asking for his touch. With his hands and his lips, he explored her body, drawing soft moans from her lips that became louder the farther down he went. As his finger touched the wetness between her legs she pressed herself into his hand, begging for more. A grin spread on his face as he generously complied.

Her fingers softly caressing his erection made him gasp for air. He whirled them around, pressing her against the wall.

“Take me ranger”, she whispered, locking her hands in his neck. Kissing her passionately he lifted a thigh and slit into her. Her moan as he took her nearly tipped him over, but he held back. He savored the feeling of her around his twitching member – hot and slippery. Starting slowly he quickly picked up his pace. His desire took over and he lost himself in her. With a groan he released himself.

Breathing heavily, he returned to himself and the small room. He drew the chain activating the shower. The water was lukewarm, making him shiver as he let it wash over him. His thoughts still surrounded the fiery goddess. Even though he had just given in to his desires he was still burning hot with lust for her. Damn, this woman was driving him nuts.

 

When he came back inside the Lodge she had her back to him, working at her workbench. Not wanting to face her in just his pants he went to his room to put on some clothes. A loud growling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He went back to the forge.

“Good morning Ylva”, he greeted her.

“Morning ranger”, she replied, not looking up from her work, “Finally done with your shower? You sure did take your time.”

Damn – she had noticed.

“I like taking a shower”, he lied.

“I hope you haven’t used up all the warm water – I’d rather have a warm shower than ice-cold one”, she turned around.

“And what have you been up to?”, he decided changing the subject was his best option.

“I’m working on my armor. It will probably take me all day to finish it, but then I might have something decent to protect me properly”, she sounded proud.

“What’s the rush? Don’t you need to get going to Jorrvaskr?”

“Oh, haven’t I told you yesterday?”, she looked surprised, “We’ve found something. I am to go to Falkreath to check some clues. And Jarl Siddgeir has called upon the Companions for assistance on whipping out a bandit camp. The job has fallen to me and as the request is very urgent I’d hate to delay.”

Falkreath and bandits? Something tugged at the back of his head. No, that was just a coincident. She surely wasn’t talking about _them._

“That means we will be leaving soon?”, he said.

“Tomorrow if everything works as planned”, she confirmed.

“If you’re going to work on that new armor of yours I guess that leaves me in charge of supplying food.”

“Err…yes?”, her sheepish smile made him chuckle.

“All right, princess. I’m in the kitchen if you need me”, he left her with her work and retreated to the kitchen.

 

Ylva had noticed the strange look on his face when she had mentioned the bandit camp. Had Bishop heard of the group or maybe even encountered them? She had to ask him the next time she got the chance.

Turning back to her work she grinned. Last night she had soaked many of the dragon bones she had collected in warm water which left her with enough material to work with. She even had managed to cut some bones into smaller pieces, well fit for a technique she had seen with elvish armor. She needed something that would let her move around quickly but would also withstand blows dealt by dragon claws.

By the time Bishop called her to eat she had already made good progress – if everything played along she would have finished the set of armor sometime the night, leaving it time to cool before it would be put to the test.

 

The ranger left her alone at the forge for the rest of the day, taking care of his own equipment. His leather armor had several rips and wholes from the last fight he needed to patch up and he needed to repair some of his arrows that he had recovered. Again and again, his thoughts trailed back to the woman only a few steps away.

The news that they would be leaving again was exciting as it was scary. Would they run into another dragon? Would the armor she was now making protect her better? He sure hoped so, he could still remember the scorched skin after their last fight with a dragon. And then there was this bandit group they had to wipe out. Could it be _that guy’s_ group? But then again, Falkreath was overrun with bandits as much as the Reach was overrun with Forsworn. There remained a small chance – maybe he should warn her about the group nonetheless.

 

 

The next morning Ylva woke early after a short night of sleep. Though the armor had taken ages to finish and she had gotten into bed sometime around midnight, she felt eager and full of energy. The trip ahead made her excited. She loved being out in the wilds of Skyrim, exploring and adventuring. If she hadn’t been born into the Companions she may have become a mercenary, traveling around for work. Quickly she got out of bed and made herself ready for the day.

Bishop found her sometime later saddling the horses. For a moment the ranger thought his eyes were playing a trick on him. The armor with its stark contrast of bony white and ebony black made her look like a dragon herself. Instead of solid plates like her wolf armor, it was made with smaller parts similar to scales. Never had he seen an armor like it.

“You _made_ that _?”,_ he exclaimed. Hearing him she turned around.

“Yes. What do you think?”, she responded with pride swinging in her voice. And she had every reason to be proud. The bests smiths in Skyrim would be green with envy once they would lay eyes on her masterpiece.

“You look like a true Dragonborn – For a moment I almost mistook you for a dragon”, he joked but quickly added, “But in a good kind of way.”

“I look forward to the next fight. My armor needs a proper test now – I bet it could even withstand a Fire Breath”, Ylva’s eyes glistened dangerously.

Fire Breath – dragons. Just thinking about them made him tense up. He wasn’t looking forward to facing one again after their last fight with one. Knowing Ylva she probably had prepared a whole bunch of potions but if her armor failed her, he wasn’t sure that would be enough.

“I was kidding, no need to look so worried”, the warrior said.

“Me worried? Pff – as if”, Bishop quickly hid his emotions between a smirk. Worrying about someone meant caring about someone and that quickly led to other stupid sentiments. _Like love?_ The voice in the back of himself snickered at him but he quickly silenced it.

“Come on, let’s be on our way. These bandits aren’t going to kill themselves”, the ranger took the reins of Balo.

“Off to Falkreath it is then”, in a swift motion Ylva swung herself into her saddle and the two of them made for the road to Falkreath.


	18. Bishop's questionable Past

They reached the town in the south of Skyrim in the early afternoon, only being delayed by a bear attacking them on their way through the thick forest. Ylva booked rooms for them in the Inn before they left the horses tied to a post outside and made their way to the Jarl's longhouse.

"Why do you want to talk to the Jarl?", Bishop asked as he followed her over to the biggest of the houses in the small town.

"I'm more interested in the steward, to be honest", Ylva replied, "In the letter, they didn't give us any information where the bandits can be found, how large the group is and so on. I want to know what we're up against. Plus, she might be able to point me in the right direction with my other task."

"What is that other job anyway? You've been pretty secretive about it", he remarked.

"I can't tell you - I promised Gramps to keep quiet about it", she really did want to tell him about the witches, but that meant breaking the oath she had sworn when she became a member of the Circle.

"You can't blame me for wanting to know what I have to stick my neck out for", he argued.

"I know that it's hard to, but please trust me with this. Right now everything is just based on suspicion and theory. As soon as I have something more sustainable I'll tell you as much as I can, I promise", she said as she reached for the door.

"I'll take your word for it, princess", he mumbled as they entered the longhouse.

The hall was lit by a great fire before the Jarls throne but was small compared to the big courtroom of Dragonsreach. The Jarl, a young and good-looking Nord with dark hair, was sitting on the far side of the room in his chair. Next to him stood a tall Altmer that was most likely his steward. Ylva stopped a respectful distance from the throne.

"What is it now?", Jarl Siddgeir sighed, seemingly bored.

"I'm Ylva of the Companions. I was sent to take care of your bandit problem", the warrior announced.

"The Companions, finally. I trust you will tend to it immediately", he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. His arrogance got on her nerve and she struggled to keep a straight face.

“I will, after I have talked to your steward”, she replied, “Your letter had only a little information about the bandits. I trust you don’t expect the Companions to turn around every stone in Falkreath with the dragons about.”

“Of course not”, the Altmer stepped forward, “Follow me, I will tell you all that we know.”

She let them into a small room to the left.

“This group of bandits has become a real problem lately”, the steward explained, “It’s a group of 10 or more men, most of them skilled fighters. While they have been attacking merchants and travelers they have specialized in abducting or raping women. It’s gotten so bad that the townsfolk are afraid to venture out of our walls. We are not sure where their hideout is and we don’t have the men to find out. However, we do suspect it’s somewhere in this area.”

She drew a circle on a map laying on the table.

Both of them leaned closer to look at the map. The area the other woman had shown on the map lay to the southwest of Falkreath close to the border to Hammerfell. Bishop sharply inhaled as realization dawned on him. There was no doubt now, it had to be _them_. He still remembered the last encounter he had with them; the scars on his face reminded him whenever he saw his reflection.

Alarmed by his reaction Ylva was watching him with an eyebrow raised in question. He knew something, she was sure about it. Maybe he even knew where their hideout was. But if the group was as bloodthirsty as the steward claimed, how had he escaped them? There had to be an interesting story behind that.

Facing the steward again she went on: “Did any of their victims survive that could give us more information about the hideout?”

“Sadly no”, the Altmer sighed, “Their last victim died shortly after making it to town. She was a traveler that knew little of our hold.”

“Too bad, in that case, we hope we’ll find the hideout on our own”, Ylva hated having no idea where her foes were. She liked having the moment of surprise on her site when clearing out a bandit camp. Having to look for it meant that the bandits could discover her and thus be ready when she attacked.

“I must say, I didn’t think the Companions would send a woman for this job”, the Altmer remarked, “Are you sure that you’re fit for the task?”

“Excuse me?”, Ylva was caught off guard. Never had she been so openly doubted.

“These guys prey on women – don’t you think a man could handle this better?”, the Altmer raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“You do know who you're talking to, do you?”, Ylva crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Let me give you a hint: She’s the only woman who could win against Ulfric in a shouting match”, Bishop remarked.

 “Bishop!”, Ylva burst out.

“What? It’s not like it’s big news, princess. Go around Skyrim and everybody is talking about you being the Dragonborn”, he shrugged.

“I still rather like people to discover it for themselves”, she said crossly, “And that wasn’t the point I wanted to make. What I was trying to say was: I am a member of the Circle and have faced large bandit groups on my own before.”

“Dragonborn?”, the Altmer looked pleasantly surprised, “Then I guess you will have no problem with the lot.”

“Good, with that being settled, there is something else I want to ask you”, Ylva leaned closer to the table, “We have been asked to locate a coven of witches – hagravens we presume, that belong to the Glenmoril Coven. Have you heard of them before?”

“Witches? No, certainly not. You may want to talk to either Runil, he is a Priest of Arkay and loves folklore. Or you can talk to Valga Vinicia, the owner of Dead Man’s Drink. She knows the word around town better than anyone.”

“Thank you”, Ylva turned to leave but quickly added with a glance over her shoulder, “We will begin the search for the bandits tomorrow morning. If all goes well, we will have taken care of the problem by evening.”

“In the name of the town and all who travel in this hold I wish you the best of luck”, the Altmer replied.

 

Once outside Ylva decided to go for the inn first. The grumbling in her stomach had made her aware of her hunger. Settled with steaming stew and an ale in front of her and Karnwyr laying at her feet with a bone to chew she turned her attention to the ranger.

“This group of bandits – do you know them?”, she carefully prodded.

Nodding, Bishop put down the mug he had just been drinking from. “I do. The leader’s name is Thorn. He’s nothing but a vicious son of a bitch that needs to be put down like the rabid dog he is. The stories about him are true as far as I can tell. Look, I was a bandit too, but he is somethin’ else.”

Memories clouded his eyes and for a moment he went quiet. When he continued the hatred in his face obvious.

“I never liked him. We were pretty much on opposite sides. In fact, he still wants me dead.”

“You were a bandit? That explains something”, she had figured as much.

“What? I, no, forget I said that”, he seemed taken aback by his own honesty, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Don’t worry”, she brushed his concern aside, “That’s not what I want to talk about.”

She leaned closer. “What does interest me though is if you know where their hideout is and how many they are.”

“I don’t know their numbers – the last time we crossed paths he had four very sadistic bastards by his side. His group could have grown, though”, Bishop took another sip from his ale, “But they haven’t moved their hideout it seems. It’s in a cave, I can mark it down on your map.”

When he returned the map to her, their fingers touched and his eyes were searching for hers.

“Ladyship, don’t underestimate these guys. These aren’t your average bandits, these are sadistic assholes that know how to fight”, he warned her, “But I won’t lie that I’d like to see his head rolling.”

“Thanks for the warning. I will be careful”, she reassuringly squeezed his hand, “And we will have his head.”

They shifted their attention to their food and the conversation died. That Bishop had a past as a bandit really was no surprise to Ylva. She had suspected as much. His reflexes in battle were far too sharp, even for a ranger. His past was a puzzle, and with each new piece he gave her, she tried to understand how he became the man she now saw before her. The man she found herself so drawn to.

 

When the innkeeper came over to pick up their empty plates Ylva seized her chance.

“I’ve been told that you know much what is going on in the hold”, she started, “Does a coven of hagravens ring a bell? Or the name Glenmoril?”

“Glenmoril…”, she scratched her neck absentmindedly, “I once heard a story about some witches by that name. I think that they went into hiding after they had trouble with some group they cursed. They’re said to be living in a cave in the mountains towards the Reach, but close to the border. But if you're interested in witchcraft you should talk to Runil.”

“These witches again?”, Bishop asked when Valga went away, “Do they have something to do with that secret task?”

“I promised you that I tell you as soon as I got some prove”, she sighed, “Please, bear with me, all right? Come on, let’s go find that priest.”

 

They found the priest by the graveyard where he was talking to a middle-aged couple. Giving them their privacy Ylva kept her distance and waited. Falkreath was one of the few holds that buried their dead. In the northern regions, the soil was too hard to dig graves in, leave alone big and deep ones. Most cities had a Hall of Dead, where the dead bodies were put to rest. The Companions burned their deceased Shield-Siblings in a ceremony at the Skyforge. The fire that had burned in their hurts were thus feeding the forge. She kinda liked the idea, it was comfortable knowing that if she would die she would still be of use for her brothers and sisters. A wet feeling on her hand startled her and she looked down, finding Karnwyr by her side, begging for some attention. Gently she scratched him between his ears.

“The graveyard is quite the sight”, Bishop remarked, “Though I don’t want to lay in a grave. I want my ashes to be spread on the open forests. Away from damn society.”

“That would suit you just nice”, she agreed, “I want my ashes to join those of my ancestors in the Skyforge and burn with them in the eternal flames there.”

The couple was making their goodbyes with the priest and walked away. The priest came over to them.

“I’m Runil, a Priest of Arkay. Can I be of help?”, he asked.

“I’m Ylva and this is Bishop. We’ve been told you know a lot of the folklore”, she introduced them.

“Ah yes. You see, my duties as a priest are important, but they can be quite dull. That’s why I indulge in stories and folklore and the Nords seem to have an abundance of them”, he smiled.

“We are interested in stories with witches, especially stories connected to the Glenmoril witches”, she explained.

“Glenmoril, huh?”, he thought for a moment, “Yes there are some stories I can tell you about them. Would you care to join me in the house? I’m in a mood for tea.”

Ylva nodded and so they followed the Altmer priest into the house. Runil went to a bookshelf and took out a journal.

“I have written down most of the stories. Before the Civil War, I sometimes had time to go out and explore and investigate. Most stories are made up with typical Nordish superstition, but some seem to hold some truth”, he elaborated as he sat down with him, careful not to come too close to the wolf.

“There are a lot of stories concerning witches, but the Glenmoril bunch a wicked group. Do you know that they once had a great coven in Cyrodiil?”, he beamed with excitement to share his knowledge.

“I have heard of the witch Melisande. As far as I know, she was the last of the witches”, Ylva threw in.

“Ah, so you’ve heard about her before. The coven in Cyrodiil was different from the one in Skyrim, you see. There they treated lycanthropy and helped the people – of sorts. The coven in Skyrim set out to do the same, but over the years Hircine twisted them into their followers. Instead of curing the beastblood they now spread it.”

“They curse people with lycanthropy?”, she asked.

“Yes. Some people seek them out, wanting to serve the Prince Hircine. Others happen upon them, lost on their way.”

“Do the stories tell where they are to be found?”, Ylva leaned forward. What she’d been hearing thus far not only confirmed what Kodlak had uncovered, it proved that the witches were dangerous for the people as well. She needed to take care of them as soon as possible.

“Not the exact location, but they are said to live in a cave close to both the Reach and Hammerfell. Though I would suggest you stay away, if you don’t want to turn into a werewolf”, he replied.

“I will keep it in mind”, she smiled, “Thank you, you’ve been a great help.”

“The witches seem like a troublesome lot”, Bishop remarked once they were on their way back to the inn.

“Yeah, I think It would be best to wipe them out once and for all”, she agreed.

“I was more thinking of never getting near them”, the ranger raised an eyebrow.

“Are you afraid that they may curse you?”, she jested, “I don’t think they would be able to if we’re fast enough.”

“Why would you freely go into a cave full of hagravens? Only because they spread the curse of lycanthropy? I guess there are enough people who would willingly give themselves to them if they granted them that power”, he argued.

“You don’t understand”, her face hardened. The beast inside her was a blessing as it was a curse. Yes, it gave her strength beyond compare. It protected her from illness, helped her wounds heal faster. But the beast was dangerous. She had control of it and could still remember what had happened once she turned back. Her brothers struggled through the full moons and tried avoiding it altogether. When they turned they became wild and only remembered a fraction of what happened when they came back.

“Then make me understand, ladyship”, he replied.

“Not now. Come, let’s get back to the inn”, she hurried back up the slope from the graveyard.


	19. Thorn

True to her word they left Falkreath the next morning on foot, leaving Allie and Balo tied to the inn. Thanks to Bishop’s memory of the place they found the entry to the cave in the matter of an hour.

“Looks quiet”, Ylva observed, “Bit too quiet for my taste.”

There was no sentry left outside and she could not hear any noises from the inside as well.

“There are some traps in the first chamber”, Bishop whispered, “Or maybe the sentry went in for a piss.”

“Still rather odd”, she muttered as she carefully opened the door.

There was no one on the other side of the door.

“They must have expected us”, Ylva cursed on beneath her breath, “So much for the element of surprise.”

“But how? I haven’t seen anyone when we came here”, Bishop whispered.

“Most likely they have an accomplice in Falkreath”, she proposed.

The passage further into the cave was blocked by spears. Looking around Ylva found the Chain that opened the passage. Signaling Bishop and Karnwyr to follow her she made for the stairs leading down.

“I can hear voices, keep close to me”, the ranger low voice was just behind her.

“….Can’t wait to kill these guys”, a dark voice said.

“Thorn said to bring them to him first – he wants the guy for himself”, another answered.

“Be quiet, I think I heard something”, a higher voice scolded them.

Ylva was surprised that there was a woman among them. With the history of rape, she had thought she would just be dealing with men. Quietly she readied her bow and glimpsed around the corner. She caught a glimpse of the woman, aimed and killed her with one arrow. The others quickly turned and ran towards the stairs.

Karnwyr darted past her and jumped up, his fangs digging into the throat of the first one. Bishops arrow put him out of his misery within seconds. Two attackers remained. Moving forward so that Bishop had better aim she let loose another of her arrows, hitting the bandit in the arm. A whistle and a sharp pain on her throat drew her off aim. _Shit,_ she thought, but lucky for her the arrow hadn’t pierced her.  

She ducked under another arrow, reached for her axes and embedded the blade into the skull of the bandit closed to her. Hot blood splashed over her, coloring her bone armor deep red. Bishop had drawn his hunting knife and dodged the blade meant for his shoulder. Karnwyr bit the bandit in the leg, giving the ranger the chance to shove his knife deep into the other guy's throat.

A quick look around revealed that they had taken care of all bandits for the moment. Ylva felt a little dizzy, the cut on her throat was pulsing. The arrow seemed to have hit an artery and she had been losing a lot of blood.  Fumbling with her pouches she fished out two vials with potion one for healing and one for regeneration. The dizziness disappeared as the potion began to work.

“Are you alright?”, she looked around for Bishop.

“I’m fine. But Karnwyr got hit by an arrow or two. Pass me a potion, will you?”, the ranger crouched down next to his wolf.

Ylva was at his side immediately, handing Bishop a potion and patting Karnwyr’s big furry head.

“There, there”, she whispered soothingly, “Everything will be fine.”

Finding an arrow poking out of the wolf’s flank she searched for Bishops eyes. The ranger nodded grimly. In a swift motion, she pulled the arrow free, quickly pressing down on the wound. The animal whimpered and tried squirming away, put her hold on him was strong enough to hold him in place.

“There’s one more, buddy”, Bishop’s finger had closed around the second arrow, “Once it’s out we will make the pain go away.”

The arrow came free easily, followed by another heart-wrenching whimper. They both quickly poured some healing potion on the wounds, before forcing some down the wolf’s throat. Then they let him go. Karnwyr stood up and shook himself.

With thus all wounds taken care of, they ventured deeper inside. Once it must have been some outpost or part of another fortress. The walls were made of rocks and the floor was paved, not some trampled down dirt one would expect inside a cave. Knowing that they had been expected, Ylva decided it was best to approach them head-on. The yet unfamiliar weight of the armor made it difficult to sneak anyway, though it didn’t make as much noise when she moved around.

They reached a long hallway with cell doors on either side of the wall. There were some sobbing noises coming from the cells as well. Ylva signaled for Bishop to take the left side as she made her way to the right. The first cell she opened held the remains of a Nord man – his face was discolored by bruises. Most likely he had been punched to death. In the second cell, however, she found a naked and shivering woman.

“Don’t take me to them – leave me”, she sobbed when Ylva tried to touch her.

“Shh…Calm down”, the warrior tried to sooth the woman, “No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. I’ve come to set you free.”

She looked around and found some shelves stacked with clothing. There were hundreds of different clothes in there, some torn, some bloody. Feeling sick she grabbed a dress that looked mostly alright and returned to the cell. Just how many people have been falling prey to those bandits?

“Here, put this on and drink this potion. With that, you should manage back to Falkreath. There you’ll be safe”, she whispered as she handed both the dress and a healing potion to the woman.

“The Gods have heard my call. Thank you!”, the woman seemed overwhelmed with gratitude.

“We will kill the bastards that did this to you”, Ylva promised.

“Ladyship!”, Bishops voice cut through the silence, “There’s another one over here!”

She quickly joined the ranger. It was a man crouched on the floor, his eyes wide open as if in fear.

“Please, just let me die”, he cried.

Looking at him she saw that he was missing an arm and the fingers of his other hand stood away in twisted directions. That was nothing a healing potion could easily fix. He would need a healer if he ever wanted to use his hand again.

“We’re only trying to help you”, she said.

The man’s eyes got even bigger and he shook violently. Too late she noticed the green veins and bluish lips. With a last cry, his eyes rolled back. Touching his throat confirmed her suspicion. He was dead.

“Poison”, Ylva spat.

“There was nothing you could do to save him”, Bishop put his hand on her arm, “Come, let’s kill these bastards.”

 

Going further down into the hideout they found many more mutilated corpses, some men but mostly women. The hatred and anger in Ylva’s chest burned hotter with every new body they found. These guys were just as bad as the Silver Hand. She wanted to tear them apart, one by one and bring them as much pain as they had brought their victims. The beast within her growled, begging to be released. Were it not for Bishop she would have given in already, but she didn’t want him to know.

When they stumbled upon two more bandits after heading down another flight of stairs she could hardly stop herself. Her axes whirled around her violently, striking one in the chest with such a force she could hear the bone crack and the other ax slicing the head from the other one’s neck. Bishop took care of another one that ran into the room. She was breathing heavily, fighting back the beast. If she continued that way, it might break free.

“Should we stop?”, Bishop eyed her worriedly.

“No, let’s continue”, she calmed down a bit, “We must be close.”

All the blood covering her armor and the floor clouded her senses, but she felt the presence of others nearby. She freed her ax from the body and continued down the hallway. At its end was a door, leading to a big room on the other side.

There they waited for them. An enormous blond Nord stood surrounded by five others, their weapons drawn ready to fight. So these were the core of the bandits, their highest in rank and most skilled fighters. Ylva’s grip on her axes tightened.

 “Well, well. Look who decided to show his face, boys! It seems you come bearing a gift…”, Thorn let his gaze moved up and down her body.

The hatred she felt towards this bastard was becoming stronger by each word leaving his mouth.

“So your Bishop’s old ‘friend’”, she hissed.

“A friend!”, he turned to her with a wicked smile on his lips, “Oh no, my little mouse. Far from it, in fact.”

“You’ve got it all wrong Thorn. She’s not a mouse. I’d say she’s much more than that”, Bishop moved in front of her. Had he sensed that she was _very_ close to losing it and wanted to buy them some time? Or was there more to the calm way he talked to the bandit?

“Isn’t she? She is a woman, Bishop. Women are soft and delicate -that’s the purpose they serve. This little mouse here”, he nodded towards Ylva, “will serve hers. On my furs, tonight. Whether she likes it or not.”

The sadistic grin on his face suggested he would prefer it if she _didn’t_ like it. Still trying to calm herself she gripped the handles even harder, making her fingers hurt. Everything in her screamed for blood, for violence.

“I see your powers of observation have not changed, Thorn. Still can’t see past your own image, can you?”, the ranger went on.

“Well it was my own image that defeated you, was it not?”, the bandit sneered, “You claim to be of the best out there, but truth is, you’re a pathetic, scared little rodent; not unlike your company, here. Anyone can see that.”

“Anyone as vain as you.”

“That, from the man that cares for no one but himself. Very well, let’s take a closer look to our little mouse here”, for the first time Thorn really looked at her.

“Oh, ho ho, what have we here”, Thorn’s smile grew even wider, “The almighty Dragonborn. Now this, this is certainly a peace offering, Bishop. The stories of how I conquered the Dragonborn will be told for ages to come. And then, once I am finally done with her, I will bring her in and claim the price on her head -  the gold will have me, us, set for life.”

Before she could shout that she would not be conquered Bishop replied: “Is that so.”

How could he remain so calm? Did she mean nothing to him?

“It is. I should thank you for presenting her to me”, Thorn hungrily licked his lips.

Ylva’s composure hung by a thread. She was close to turning, she could already feel her canine growing into fangs. Her eyes were quickly changing between glowing yellow and hazel.

“And what do I get for this?”, the ranger sounded as if he really meant to turn her over. What was going on? He had told her that he wanted to see this bastard dead, now he was considering working with him? Had it all just been an act to get her to come with him, to lure her here? No, it had been her idea to come. And she refused to believe he would betray her like that, after having saved her life before. That the kisses they had shared meant nothing to him.

“Oh”, Thorn chuckled to himself. He was clearly enjoying the whole situation, even though they had killed many of his underlings.

“Perhaps I will let you have some fun with her as well. After me and my boys are done, of course.”

“You wish, Thorn”, finally anger slit into Bishop's voice.

“Would that be wise, I wonder. You do remember what happened the last time we spoke.”

“You don’t want to fight me, Thorn. It’s been years since our last meeting. We fought to a draw that time, but I’ve learned a lot since then”, his hand was reaching for his hunting knife, “On the other hand, you’ve probably stayed hidden in the forest all these years, being the brave warrior you are, fighting bunny rabbits and squirrels while your underlings did the dirty work for you.”

“Funny should mock me, Bishop. You know perfectly well how easy it would be for me to simply skin you alive. With your own hunting knife, no less.”

“Let’s see, six to two? Yah, I like those odds. I should warn you though, if we’re doing this I’m going to carve my name into that face of yours. That outta tear the heart right out of you, huh?”, while he sounded confident, the hand holding his knife trembled ever so slightly.

“Go ahead and try it!”, the bastard growled.

“Hah! So if you are welcoming death today, the Dragonborn and I will accommodate you.”

“Kill Bishop, if you must. I want the Dragonborn alive. Oh, the fun we will have together”, he ordered his men.

 

Absorbed in their clash of words no one had taken any notice of Ylva. She felt the familiar prickle of her skin as fur sprouted all over her body. Her whole body burned hot as if the blood in her veins had started to boil. The pain as her bones grew larger was so intense she was bent over on the floor, hastily stripping down her armor. Her back felt if it was torn apart when her tail grew in. Unable to bear it anymore she cried out, but not as a human but as the beast.

The howl made all of the bandits turn around in terror. Yes, let them fear her, for she would tear them apart. She hungered for their flesh and her claws were eager to dig into them. Thorn froze as she jumped. _Kill, kill, kill!_ the beast screamed in her mind.

 

Having mistaken the howl as Karnwyrs the ranger turned almost too late to jump out of the way as a bolt of white pounced on Thorn. Turning he saw a gigantic white wolf bent over the other man's body, ripping the torso to shreds. Confused the ranger looked around. Where did the werewolf come from? And where in Oblivion was Ylva? Seeing the dragon armor scattered on the floor in a corner of the room Bishop understood.

Thorn screamed in pain and tried to fight off the beast. His screams died however as the wolf tore open his throat drinking his blood. His henchmen awoke out of their trance and ran towards the werewolf with raised axes. The wolf let out a loud howl as axes found flesh under its white fur.

“Ylva!”, Bishop shouted grabbing his bow. The wolf lunged at the henchmen, her powerful claws pushing them off their feet. Bishop buried two arrows in one of the bandits coming at her from behind. Another one fell at her feet, pale and with a hole in his chest where the heart should have been.

The wolf turned, blood dripping from her jaws. Terror spread among the bandits and they tried to flee. In a fury of claws and sharp teeth two more fell to her blind hunger. The last one fell with three arrows sticking out of his chest.

The wolf howled at the ceiling, blood dripping from his mouth and covering its fur. Karnwyr joined in, circling her with his tail wiggling. With no one left standing the wolf turned towards Bishop, yellow eyes narrowing at his sight.

“Please, princess”, he dropped the bow, “Please come back to your senses!”

The beast made a strange sound as it slowly came closer.

“Ylva”, he pleaded, “Ylva, you know me! It’s me, Bishop.”

He slowly backed away until his back reached the wall. There was no escape. The white wolf came closer and closer. His heart pounded loudly in his chest.

“Please Ylva”, his voice was only a whisper. She was almost on him. He could smell the blood on her breath and turned away his face, feeling sick. Never in his life had he been so afraid. He pressed his eyes shut. He didn’t want to see her anymore. If he should die by her hands he at least didn’t want to look her in the eyes.

He felt something cold and wet touch his face. Was she sniffing him? Something wet and warm swept over his ear, then he heard a whimper and a loud thud.

Scared, he opened an eye. The wolf lay on the floor whimpering at him. As he looked into her eyes he saw the gleaming yellow slowly turning back into hazel.

“Ylva”, he cried as he sank to the floor beside her. The whimper turned into a scream of pain, a _human_ scream.

As she turned back he saw deep cuts covering her back. He looked wildly around the room until he found the pile of armor and pouches were Ylva had transformed. Almost tripping over his feet getting up he ran over and looked for the pouch with the healing potions. He found it and hurried back to her. Quickly he dropped the contents of a large vile over her back.

She screamed and turned as the wounds began to close. He uncorked another one, struggling to turn her head around.

“Please ladyship, lay still for once”, he swore between gritted teeth. Somehow he managed to get her to drink the red liquid holding her close as her body still fought with the beast. After a while she lay still, breathing heavily.


	20. A Howl in the Darkness

“Bishop!”, Ylva woke with a start and looked around. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out.

“I’m here, princess”, a voice next to her announced.

“Thank the divines”, Ylva turned towards the voice. The ranger sat on a piece of rubble watching her carefully. His face was guarded and doubtful, maybe even hurt?

“I’m sorry”, she began, “You weren’t supposed to see… _it_.”

“Oh, you’re sorry?”, he imitated her mockingly, anger flashing on his face, “We’ve been traveling together for weeks and you didn’t think I’d like to know that I was sleeping next to a werewolf?”

His words hurt. She sat up, clutching the fur coat covering her body - the coat that she had given him weeks ago when they first met.

“I swore an oath to never tell anybody. Besides, would you have stuck around if you knew? Yes, I am a werewolf, but that doesn’t mean I am a wild beast and a threat to every person out there!”, her voice rose with anger.

“I thought you were going to KILL me!”, he roared at her.

The accusation in his tone made tears well up in her eyes. “I remember everything I do when I turn. And I _can_ control it. I wasn’t going to fucking hurt you. All I wanted was to see if you were alright!”

She buried her face in her hands, tears of anger and frustration running down her cheeks. How could he think that she would harm him? Karnwyr came to lie down next to her and licked her hands. He had known from the moment he had first caught her sent and had been her secret ally ever since.

The hurt in her voice and her tears got through the fog of Bishop's anger. Sighing he rubbed his face.

“What do you mean by ‘you swore an oath’?”, his tone was calm now, almost comforting.

Ylva shook her head. It was too late now. She had broken the oath the moment the fur had sprouted all over her body. He knew what she was, so she might as well tell him the rest of it.

“When you become a member of the Circle you will be gifted with the blood of a werewolf. If your spirit is strong you will survive the turning and emerge an even stronger warrior than before. But the gift comes with a price – hunger, anger and the tainting of your soul”, she slowly explained.

“Why have I never heard of that?”, Bishop got down from the rubble and sat next to her.

“We’re not too keen on anybody knowing our secret, not even the whelps know”, she shot him a glance, “The blood of the beast is meant to bind those of the Circle. You must swear an oath to keep the secret, to protect you and your brothers and sisters. If you break it, you’ll be hunted for the rest of your life.”

“Wait, you mean your brothers are werewolves, too?”, he shuddered at the thought. They were a frightening sight in full armor and with their claymores on their back. Imagining them as a werewolf made the hairs on his back stand out.

“Yes, though they can’t control it as good as I can. I guess my dragon blood helps me in that regard”, she managed a crooked smile.

He looked at her, considering her words. After a while, he sighed and got up.

“Come on, let’s get out of this place”, he finally suggested, “I need some fresh air.”

 

Leaving the hideout and the bodies behind they made their way back to Falkreath. They passed an abandoned camp and Ylva, still feeling the aftereffects of her turning, stopped.

“Bishop, can I talk to you for a moment?”, she asked as she sat down on a large rock.

“Sure, Ladyship”, the ranger turned towards her.

“What happened in that cave – you won’t tell anybody about it, will you?”, she looked him straight in the eyes.

“Worried that I send the Vigilant of Stendarr after you?”, Bishop smirked, “Don’t worry, Ladyship. You’ve scared the living shit out of me with your transformation, but you’ve also saved my ass.”

“I’ve never lost it as I lost it in there”, she confessed, “That Thorn…what he had done and what he said…it hit a nerve. And when you said you’d hand me over I snapped.”

“Wait, you weren’t honestly thinking I’d do that, did you?”, he seemed alarmed.

“For a moment I wasn’t sure, your act was pretty convincing”, she felt ashamed for having doubted him.

“Well, we were outnumbered and I could sense that you were struggling – though I didn’t realize with what. I was trying to buy us some time so that you might come up with something”, he explained, “I must say, I didn’t think you’d give me that kind of trust. We make a great team.”

“I trust you Bishop – you know I do. And since you now know my little secret I’ll tell you anything you want to know. But you have to swear to me, that you will never say a word to anybody”, she emphasized.

“I swear”, his gaze held hers, “So what is that mission your grandfather sent you on?”

“To find the cure for lycanthropy. Gramps wants to be rid of this curse so that he can go to Sovengarde. And he wants the Companions to be clean again, to only rely on the strength of their arms and their hearts, not some Deadric prince.”

“What does Sovengarde have to do with you being a werewolf?”

“Hircine claims the souls of all werebeasts. When you die, he will take your soul to his Hunting Grounds. Gramps wishes to go to Sovengarde, but as long as he is a werewolf he will never reach it”, she explained.

“And what’s with the witches?”

“Throw the head of the witch that laid the curse on you into a fire of cleansing and your soul will be rid of the beast”, she cited, “The Glenmoril witches were the ones that made the Companions into werewolves. I will wipe them out and take their heads back to Jorrvaskr.”

“Not an easy task”, Bishop acknowledged.

“That’s why I’m going”, she stated, “Gramps counts on me and I would hate to leave him at Hircine’s mercy.”

“You must really love danger”, he remarked.

“I was born with the soul of a dragon. It’s in my nature”, she winked at him, “You don’t have to come if you’re afraid of some hagravens.”

“Me, afraid? As if”, he made a dismissive gesture.

“Good”, she stood up, “Then let’s go back to Falkreath and report back to the steward.”

 

It was early afternoon when they returned to the steward.

“I believe the bandits are dead?”, the Altmer looked up from the letter in her hands.

“All that were in the hideout, including their leaders”, Ylva confirmed, “But they knew we were coming. Could be that they had an informant. I thought you might want to know that.”

“I see”, the other woman looked at her thoughtfully, “Thank you for telling me this. And thank you for freeing one of their captives.”

“So she made it safely to town?”, Ylva was relieved.

“She is currently being treated by our alchemist.”

“Good. You might also consider sending some men over to that hideout. Its pretty large and could be used for an outpost”, the warrior suggested.

“I will inform the Legion. We don’t have the men to spare”, the Altmer replied.

“Since we took care of your problem, I presume you will send the promised reward to Jorrvaskr?”

“With the next carriage heading for Whiterun, yes.”

“Good. We will take our leave then”, Ylva friendly nodded to the steward.

Leaving the longhouse they made for the inn.

„I guess it’s too late to start looking for the witches coven“, Ylva signed, looking into the sky, “We won’t make it till dusk and it will be difficult to locate the coven in the dark.”

“Well, we could try to get as far as possible and set up camp once the sun’s down”, Bishop suggested.

“Don’t you prefer to sleep at the inn?”, she asked surprised.

“No, not really”, Bishop shrugged, “Out in the woods, with a fire and a nice bedroll, that’s more to my liking. Besides, it’s not like we will be spending weeks in the wild.”

“True, as soon as we’ve taken care of the witches we will return to Jorrvaskr. If all goes well we will be back home by tomorrow evening”, Ylva thought out loud, “All right, then let’s just pick up the horses and give me some time to change into new breeks and shirt. I’ve torn my others to shreds back at the hideout.”

“You mean your naked underneath?”, Bishop’s eyes glittered dangerously.

“Well, yes. And don’t look at me that way! It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before”, she involuntarily blushed. She had sensed his eyes on her when she had put her armor back on in the cave.

“Only because you were wounded. Need any help with getting out of your armor?”

“No, thank you. I am perfectly capable of undressing myself.”

The ranger pouted. “You’re no fun.”

 

They put up camp somewhere close to the border and an abandoned tower sometime later when the sun began fading. Lucky for them the drizzle that had kept them company since they had left Falkreath behind had let up. The air still smelled of rain but the forest around them came to life with the animals of the night. There were some wolves nearby and in the distance, a bear roared. Ylva knew that neither of the predators would bother them. Her smell usually was enough to keep them away unless they felt threatened. Sitting there with the warmth of the fire caressing her face, Karnwyr’s big head on her lap and the sounds of the wildlife all around she felt at peace.

“Enjoying yourself?”, Bishop sat down on his bedroll.

“It’s quiet and peaceful here”, she drank in the calmness around her, “Almost like at home.”

“Is that why you don’t live with the others in the city?”

“Maybe. I love my family, their laughter and their stories. But I also love to be out on my own, listening to the little sounds all around me”, she smiled a little, “The others often joke about that, saying that I’m a lone wolf, that I don’t run with the pack.”

“And how could you? I don’t see them rushing out to help every person as you do. Nor do they have a big prophecy hanging over their heads”, he said, “I think you’re entitled to your own little peace of mind now and then.”

“Yes, the prophecy”, she went silent for a moment. Killing dragons, devouring their souls and facing Alduin at the end of times. Like every time it came to her mind her guts clenched up.

“What’s on? Sabercat caught your tongue?”, Bishop joked.

“Never mind”, she wiped away the dark thoughts, “Tomorrow we won’t be fighting dragons – hopefully. Hagravens are tricky enough.”

“You have some experience?”, Bishop raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been sent on a few jobs in the Reach”, she nodded, “Have you ever faced one?”

“Yes. Disgusting creatures and crazy strong”, he shuddered at the memory, “And you need to watch those claws. A scratch is enough to give you some serious sickness.”

“Then you better stay behind me. My beastblood makes me immune to sickness.”

“You know, that werewolf business sounds more like a blessing than a curse to me”; Bishop remarked as he tossed a twig into the fire, “Why get rid of it?”

“You pay a high price for it”, Ylva looked into the flames with a strange look in her eyes, “Only if your spirit is strong you will win against the beast and return to yourself and even fewer can remember what they’ve done once the wolf takes over.”

Her eyes wandered upwards to the stars. Heavy clouds passed over the moons, though you could hardly see them anyways since they were close to new moons. Again she was surprised that she had lost control, the beast was weak during the new moons.

“The moons play a vital part in your turning. The closer they come to a full, the stronger the beast becomes. Even those that can control the beast will feel it fighting to break free. Looking into the night sky when the moons are out may even turn you. I think thanks to the dragon blood I am able to contain the beast and only turn if I want to – at least until today. Others aren’t as fortunate.”

“Is that were your scars come from?”, Bishop had been watching her.

Involuntarily she touched the deep marks on her skin.

“When we were first given the blood Vilkas lost control. He went wild and attacked innocent people. I tried to stop him and tackled him. He struck me with his claws and I don’t remember much after it. When I woke, I was back at Jorrvaskr with him worriedly looking over me. Later they told me he had brought me back, but by that time it was too late to heal the wound with potions and it had already festered.”

“So that’s what you meant with ‘twice the control’.”

She winced at the memory. “I shouldn’t have said that. Vilkas can be an ass, but he means well. And I see the guilt in his eyes whenever he sees the scars. We argue a lot and did it, even more, when we were younger. But he is always there when I need him.”

“I know what that feels like”, Bishop seemed lost in painful memories as a shadow passed over his face.

Haunted by her own shadows Ylva stayed silent and scratched Karnwyr between his ears. The past had both of them left with scars, some more visible than others. At least tomorrow she could protect others from suffering the same fate she had.


	21. Witch Hunt

It was foggy when they started their search the next morning. Falkreath was a great hiding spot - almost no settlements, forests with thick undergrowth and an abundance of caves to hide in. With the directions they had been given by Runil she had narrowed down the area where she suspected the coven.

They decided against riding and instead led the horses through the thicket. Karnwyr went on ahead, sniffing the floor and scouting the area. Ylva's nose caught a whiff of something. Was that dried old blood? Following her nose and gut, she let them up a slope. The further up they came the more the lush green of the forest made way to dark reddish dirt. The smell of old blood became stronger. Karnwyr stopped to growl at a skeleton. By the looks of it the breast cage of a Mammoth had been put in the ground and topped with the skull of a deer and the horns of an elk.

"We’re close", Ylva said, regarding the strange figure, "That looks an awful lot like what a hagraven would put in her living room.”

They left the horses behind and made their way further up the slope, coming to a cave. There were more of the strange skeleton figures here and some taproots were hung from a dead tree. The whole scene felt eerie and wrong. Spriggans were Kyne’s servants – killing them meant killing nature in a way.

“This is it”, she put on her helmet and reached for her axes, “Are you ready?”

“No bow today?”, Bishop was reading his own.

“No. I want them to know we’re coming. I want to face them head-on, to see the fear in their eyes when they realize that they brought their deaths onto themselves”, her voice was cold but calm.

This was a turning point and she knew it. Once she stepped into the cave there was no going back, neither for her nor for the Companions. They would be rid of the beasts and reclaim the honor of fighting with only the strength of their arms. No Deadric Prince could claim them again and only Shor would be their judge at the end of times.

“If that’s what you want, princess, I’ll cover you”, he fetched an arrow out of his quiver, “Just…be careful, alright?”

She smiled at him and, remembering that he couldn’t see her smile under her helmet, she nodded. “You, too.”

Bracing herself she went in first, Karnwyr following on her heal and Bishop keeping some distance to be able to cover her and not hit her with his arrows. They went down a long tunnel and after a bent, they saw the first of the witches in a large chamber lit by a fire in its middle.

Unlike other hagravens Ylva had seen before, this one was completely white. Not completely though – as the creature turned, her red eyes found her.

“The beast has returned!”, the witch screeched.

“Yes”, Ylva boomed as she turned her axes in her hands, “And the beast has come for your head.”

A shrill noise escaped the creature’s lips. Was she…laughing?

“Your blood is ours, Companion!”, it screamed as it threw a fire blast at them.

The warrior took the full blow, shielding her companions with her body. Ylva hardly felt the warmth of the fire engulfing her and a smile spread on her face. The new armor was protecting her perfectly. An arrow whistled past her head and struck the creature's arm. Bishop was cursing behind her.

“Hurt her again and I’ll kill you!”, he blurted, letting another arrow loose.

Knowing that the witch would need to recover her magicka before a new attack Ylva sprinted towards her, swinging her axes. Warm blood splattered on her face as her weapons hit home.

The witch still struggled on. With its long and sharp claws, she aimed for her eyes. Before it could reach her an arrow hit it in its right eye, throwing the creature of aim. The warrior reacted fast, bringing her weapon up from below. With a powerful blow, she tore open the creature’s guts, spilling them on the floor.

“First one down”, Ylva neatly chopped off the head and dropped it in a bag she had brought. Strangely enough, the head hardly bled.

“That is disgusting”, Bishop grimaced.

“It is”, she agreed as she tied the bag to her belt, “But that was only the first. There has to be more.”

 

Ylva was disappointed. Reading and hearing the stories of the Glenmoril Witches she had expected something more. The hagravens were stronger as other hagravens she had faced out in the Reach, she’d give them that, but they still were no match for her. What was even stranger to her was that the witches patiently waited for her to come. She was sure that they had heard the screams and the struggle of their sister, but they didn’t come to help. Each of them waited in their own part of the cave – small chambers all connected by a tunnel to the main chamber where they’d found the first. Were they hoping she might not come for them? Or were they accepting their fate – waiting for their death? But then again, why were they fighting back when she came for them? To put on a show for their Lord?

Putting the fourth head into its bag she made her way back to the main chamber. She reeked of blood and fire – having taken the blow again and again to protect the ranger and the wolf. When they passed a river or a lake on their way back to Jorrvaskr, she’d gladly take a short swim.

“Come on, there’s one last tunnel”, she gestured towards the opening in the wall.

“All right – can’t wait to get out of here”, the ranger readied another arrow.

As with the other tunnels Ylva went in first. This time the tunnel opened up to a chamber with a small pond in its middle. On the far side of the tunnel, the hagraven was waiting for them. It had heard the cries of its sisters. For a moment Ylva thought she saw relief in the creature’s bloodshot eyes.

Fire engulfed her and she barely managed to get her arms up to cover her eyes. Some of the flames got through and licked at her skin. Cursing she sprinted towards the witch, Karnwyr on her heel. Blood splattered as her axes found flesh.

“You belong to Hircine”, the witch spat blood into her face, “He will have you.”

“Tell Hircine he can go fuck himself”, Ylva growled through gritted teeth, “He has no power over me.”

She wanted to get it over with fast. Drawing in her breath she let out the word: “SU!”

Feeling the power surge within her she whirled around, letting her axes dance through the air. The hagraven tried to dodge her, put Karnwyr jumped up, digging his sharp fangs into its bony arm. It stood still suddenly, its eyes fixed on the warrior. Warm drops of blood hit Ylva’s face when she chopped off the head with a single strike. The body was still twitching as it fell to the floor, headless.

“It’s done”, she exhaled, shivering slightly. The smell of blood clouded her senses, making her feel nauseous. She removed her helmet to breathe more easily. The rush of battle left her, she felt cold and tired.

“You don’t look too good, Ladyship”, the ranger was standing right beside her.

“I’m fine”, she said, “Just a little tired, that’s all.”

He gently wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, letting her lean on him.

“Come on. You may have a dragon’s soul but you only have the body of a human”, he whispered in her ear, “Don’t push yourself so hard.”

She wanted to protest but he quickly turned her face towards his and sealed her mouth with a kiss. It was a soft and gentle kiss. His warm hand caressed her cheek. When he touched the small spot of burnt skin she winced.

“What’s that?”, his eyebrows furrowed as he turned her around.

“Just a small burn”, she answered, “I didn’t get my arms up in time to shield my eyes.”

“You’re too reckless”, he scolded her, “Let me take care of it.”

“I’m not reckless. I was protecting you”, she pouted, but she let him clean the burn nonetheless.

“I don’t want you to get hurt”, he gently smeared some healing potion on the burn, “And I _can_ protect myself.”

“Still – I rather _get_ patched up than having to patch you up”, she winced as the potion took effect.

“Stubborn princess”, he breathed before placing his lips on hers a second time. Whether it was the fatigue from fighting or something else she didn’t know, but her knees suddenly felt weak. Her hand lost grip of her helmet she had still be holding and it dropped to the floor. Bishop placed a hand in the curve of her back while his other gently caressed the freshly healed patch.

 

Was it the way she perfectly fit against him, the way her body pressed against his? Or was it the soft moan that he hungrily drank when his fingers touched the skin of her neck? Whatever it was, it made the ranger’s blood boil hot with passion. He had meant to kiss her softly, thanking her for risking her hide to save his own. But having her in his arms, tasting her sweet lips, he couldn’t let go. A hand found his way in his hair, making him shiver and another came to lay on his shoulder, the warmth of her skin seeping through gauntlet and armor. He felt her heartbeat through the skin on her throat. When he let his thumb trail over the pulsing vein she moaned again. Seizing the opportunity, he let his tongue ghost against hers. She answered, letting the kiss deepen, their mouths engaging in a wild dance of lips and tongues.

Crushing her against him he felt her armor painfully digging into his body. He couldn’t care less that she was covered blood. She was a red goddess, painted with the death of her enemies, her auburn hair spilling over her back as her braid had come undone during the battle. By the gods, he wanted to have her, rip the armor off her body and let her feel his rock-hard desire. He wanted to push her against the wall, taking her with her back pressed against the cold stone. His lips left hers and nibbled on her neck, rewarding him with another sweet moan.

“I want you”, he whispered in her ear.

Suddenly she tensed up. “Are…are you serious?”

“Serious as the dead, princess”, he deserted her neck to be able to look her in the eyes, “I see something I want; someone…and that someone happens to be you.”

“You really think of me in that way?”, there was lust in her eyes, no doubt about that, and something else – was she afraid?

“You’re that surprised? I think of you in many ways, ladyship. If you don’t see that yet, I have other ways of making it perfectly clear”, cupping her face in his hand he placed another kiss on her irresistible lips, lightly sucking on her lower lip.

“Not bad at all, for a start”, he grinned, “I say we do that again and finish what I started.”

He wanted to get back to work on her neck, when he felt her hands on his shoulders, keeping him am distance.

“Bishop, no”, her voice was trembling, as if she was fighting for control, “We can’t do this. Not like this, not _here._ I have to get back to Whiterun with the heads!”

“Aw, come on, princess”, he was angry to be stopped on the brink of fulfilling his desires, “A little fun never hurt anybody. And your brothers can surely wait a bit.”

“I said NO”, she pushed him away, freeing herself from his embrace, “Touch me again without my permission and you’re dead!”

“I love it when you want to play hard to get”, he smirked, gently running a finger over her full lips, “Trust me, you’ll want me and then you’ll be all mine. That I can promise you.”

He locked eyes with her, removing his hand. “Never give a hunter a target, ladyship. And you just gave me an irresistible one.”

Ylva turned around quickly and went to look for the last of the witches’ heads, ignoring him completely.

 

As they rode back to Whiterun Ylva’s heart was pounding so wildly in her chest it hurt. It scared her how easily he wrapped her around his fingers, how weak and submissive she had become in a matter of seconds just by the touch of his hands. Yes, she wanted him and she had wanted everything he did to her in that cave. Her skin was still burning where he had touched her. Still, she wanted to taste more of him, to show him what he did to her, how he made her feel. But a small voice, sounding an awful lot like Vilkas, in the back of her head chimed: _He just wants your body! After he’s done, he’ll leave! Why would anybody want to stay with you? And then you’ll be the lone wolf again._


	22. Death and Revenge

They reached the city at dawn, the last of the light fading behind red clouds. As soon as she set her foot on the ground she felt that something was off. Something had happened, she was sure of it. The guards at the gates came towards her.

“Thane! Your finally back!”, one of them greeted her.

“What is going on?”, she was more than alarmed at the relief in the guard’s voice.

“Bandits attacked – they slipped inside and attacked Jorrvaskr!”, the guard was clearly shaken.

The Silver Hand! Fearing the worst Ylva threw herself at the gates and rushed through. Why now? Had they known she wouldn’t be there to defend her family? Behind her, Bishop yelled for her to slow down but she ignored him. She needed to get home – see if everyone was safe.

There was a crowd in front of the steps to the mead hall. As she ran towards it, heads turned and the people made way. At the foot of the stairs, Ylva stopped. Aela and Tovar were standing guard. Blood splatters covered their armor and faces. To their feet lay the corpses of two bandits.

Aela spotted her and her eyes burned into hers angrily.

“These two aren’t a problem anymore”, her sister’s voice was cold and full of accusation.

All the color was drained from Ylva’s face. How could the Silver Hand have gotten so far? Fear held her heart in an iron grip. Where were the others? Rushing past her sister she pushed open the door to the hall – and froze.

Vilkas turned around, his hand reaching for his greatsword. Tears were running down his face and the sadness in his eyes turned to anger when he recognized her. Abandoning his claymore, he went up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her painfully.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!”, he thundered, his voice raucous from either shouting or crying, she couldn’t tell.

“What happened?”, her own voice sounded strangled. She couldn’t see behind him but the muffled sounds of someone crying reached her. The bad feeling in her guts got even stronger.

“TELL ME, BROTHER!”, she became more frantic.

“The Silver Hand. They finally found enough courage to attack Jorrvaskr”, he looked away, “We fought them off, but…”

Over his shoulders, Ylva spotted someone lying on the floor. Farkas and Nadia were crouching over him, their faces distorted by grief. No, it couldn’t be…her eyes were surely playing a trick on her. But they weren’t – there, laying in a pool of blood, the silver hair loosely around his head like a halo, lay the Harbinger.

“NOOO!”

Pushing her brother away she stumbled forward and sank to her knees.

His face was relaxed as if he had welcomed his death. She gently wiped a silver strand of hair from his forehead. He was pale and his skin was cold as ice. As much as she wanted to believe it she knew he wasn’t sleeping. Her hands trembled and her vision blurred as tears streamed down her face.

“Ylva”, warm hands touched her and she recognized Farkas, his voice raw from crying, “He’s gone.”

“It can’t be”, she whispered, “I won’t let him.” Surely a strong potion and a healing spell would bring back the warmth and life to his face? Her hands reached for her pouch but a hand stopped her.

“You can’t bring him back, sister. There’s nothing we can do”, her brother squeezed her hand reassuringly.

She doubled over, feeling as if her heart had been ripped out. How could the Gods be so cruel? Why was everyone she cared for taken away from her? A strangled sob escaped her throat. She bit down hard on the lip, hindering the second one from escaping. If she’d just been there sooner, if she just hurried, if she’d never gotten lost in that kiss, she would have been there. It was all her fault – if she’d been here she could have protected him, could have saved him. None of this would have happened. It was all because of her because she had become selfish.

“Little Sis”, Vilkas placed a hand on her shoulder, “There’s nothing you can do for him – but we can _avenge_ him.”

Avenge him? Turning around she looked into her brother’s eyes. Grief and anger mixed in them and for a moment they seemed red instead of the watery silver she knew.

“We will bring the battle to their chief camp. There will be none left living to tell their stories. Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung”, she saw the thirst for blood in his eyes, “We will avenge Kodlak. And they will know terror before the end.”

The grief she felt was replaced by hatred. The Silver Hand had taken everything from her. Her mother, Skjor and now her grandfather she loved so dearly. She would have their blood. Rip their hearts out, make them pay. Every single one of them would pay for her loss. There will be no restraint any more. Blood will be paid for in blood.

“Let’s have their heads”, somehow, she found the strength to stand up again. The emptiness in her mind had been filled with the will for revenge. Turning around for the door, she met Bishop's eyes but quickly shied away.

 

The ranger had recognized the look on her face. He had seen the thirst for blood in her eyes before, in Thorn’s cage. Her eyes had been yellow then, not hazel as they were now. All the warmth he usually saw in them was gone and her jaw was set in determination. Was that the same woman he had held in his arms a few hours ago, so fragile and full of passion? He hardly recognized her. She was set for revenge, no matter the cost, he realized. His chest felt tight with fear, fear that she would willingly give her life for the sake of revenge. He couldn’t and wouldn’t allow that. Even if she didn’t care for her life, he did –though the realization came as a shock.

Ylva passed him without a second glance and moved out. Was she blaming him for not being here on time? Seeing the damage done by the bandits – whoever they were – there was no doubt that they would have been too late either way. Only if they wouldn’t have gone to kill the witches they might have made it in time. She surely must have realized that?

Following her out and down to the gates he was wondering how a group of bandits had managed to slip into the walls at all. And why would they do that anyway? Bandits didn’t go around attacking cities, they stuck to raids on smaller towns if they raided towns at all. He knew it – he had been part of raids when he was a bandit himself. There must be more to it then, a personal vendetta or a long history between the groups? Yet that still didn’t explain how they managed to kill one of the most respected warriors in Skyrim. Even Thorn and his gang had been proven powerless against just one Companion. Of course, Ylva had turned into a werewolf then, the memory still made him shudder. Turning into one in the middle of Whiterun wouldn’t have been an option. But a group of battle-trained elite warriors as the Companions ought to be able to fight off some bandits, right?

 

They continued in silence for some time, each left to his or her own thoughts. It wasn’t until the horses struggled to stay on the road that the thought of rest came to their minds. Allie and Balo had been up as early as their riders and aside from smaller breaks throughout the day hadn’t gotten any rest. Ylva felt as tired as her mare. After the initial shock and anger had subsided throughout the hours of riding through the night she felt tired and hollow, as if a big part of her was missing. She had no idea were Vilkas was leading them and couldn’t tell if the camp of the Silver Hand was anywhere close. Pulling Allie over on the side of the road she stopped.

“Sister, what are you doing?”, Vilkas turned his stallion around.

“We need some sleep. No matter how close the camp of the Silver Hand is, we won’t do much damage to them if we can barely lift our weapons”, her feet barely managed to support her when she got out of her saddle.

A hand steadied her and she was surprised to see Bishop at her side.

“Sit down, ladyship. I’ll take care of your stuff”, he gently took the reins from her hand.

“What are you doing here?”, Vilkas also seemed surprised to see the ranger. Had they both been oblivious to him? It dawned on Ylva that she hadn’t paid much attention to their surroundings at all since she had seen Kodlak laying on the floor. The picture had burned itself into her eyes, the scene playing over and over in her mind for the whole ride.

“I’m here to make sure that Ylva won’t get herself killed in some folly attempt at revenge”, Bishop glared at Vilkas.

“ _Folly attempt_?”, the other Nord slid out of his saddle and came to stand in front of the ranger, “Our honor compels us to revenge. Kodlak was our family and even more, he was our Harbinger. His life shall be paid for in blood.”

Gripping the ranger by his collar he continued: “You, however, are an outsider. You have no part in this. Leave us alone!”

“Vilkas!”, Ylva put her hand on her brother’s shoulder, “Let him be.”

“I will not have him with us! The revenge is ours to take!”, her brother snarled at her. She understood him all too well and after what he had said to her in the cave, she had a mind of sending him away, fearing she would fall to his charms again. But the voice of reason in her mind was louder than the voices of doubt and mixed emotions.

“And we will take it. But it would be unwise to refuse help if it’s given freely. We can use all the help we can get”, she pushed his hands away, “You know the Silver Hand is not to be trifled with. They killed too many of us already and none of them unskilled fighters.”

“Wait, the Silver Hand?”, Bishop new the name, “That’s who we’re up against?”

“You know them?”, both Vilkas and Ylva were looking at him.

“Not much, but they are among the most ruthless of bandits out there. I’ve heard some stories about them but I didn’t think those were true”, he replied.

“Like what?”, even her brother seemed now interested in what he had to say.

“Well, something about them killing werewolves and wearing their skins, though I just thought that was some bullshit they spread around that no other bandit group would go near them”, Bishop explained, “But now it kind of makes sense that they would go after you guys.”

“What are you implying?”, Vilkas was on guard.

Ylva sighed.

“Brother, he _knows_ ”, she confessed, “He has seen me turn.”

Vilkas was looking at her with disbelief plainly written on his face. “You _turned_ in front of him? Have you lost your mind?”

“We were outnumbered and I lost it, all right? I didn’t do it on purpose!”, Ylva felt guilty, knowing that she had broken her vow, “But he won’t tell anybody. Besides, I have found a way to rid ourselves from this curse once and for all.”

Her brother didn’t look very convinced but seemed to not have a mind for arguing with her.

“The Silver Hand know of the true nature of the Companions”, Ylva explained to the ranger, “I don’t know whether they used to be a part of the Companions that objected Terrfyg’s choice to become werewolves or if they have found out about it differently. What I do know is that they used to warn people of the Companions, though none believed their tales. Seeing that telling the truth had no effect they went into hiding and hunted every Companion foolish enough to cross their path. Since society had turned their back on them they took to banditry to survive.”

A cold wind swept over them and Ylva drew her fur coat tight around her.

“They fight with weapons made from silver, hence their name Silver Hand. Werewolves, like other Deadric mutations, are weak against it. Wounds inflicted with a silver weapon heal slower and weaken us greatly, making us an easy target. Over the years many Shield-Siblings have died by their hands”, she turned away and hid her face, swallowing hard.

“They have killed many of my family. They butchered my uncle when he was just a boy. My grandparents they slaughtered when they came to revenge their son. And they were the ones that killed my mother. The Silver Hand is the main reason why I’m the last of the Twice-Named clan.”

“Oh Ylva”, Bishop hugged her, gently stroking her hair. Too surprised by his unusual behavior she let it happen. It felt good to have his arms around her, sheltering her from the cold and sharing the warmth of his body. Again she realized just how tired she was.

Vilkas cleared his throat, making her shy away from the ranger.

“If you want to get lost in the arms of your lover, be my guest. But do it somewhere I don’t have to watch”, he glared at her.

“He is not my lover”, Ylva shot back, though she wasn’t sure what Bishop was to her instead.

“I’m her companion”, Bishop grinned, the ambiguous nature of the word not lost on him.

“You have a nerve calling yourself that”, Vilkas eyes narrowed.

“Could you stop fighting so that we can get a tent up and a fire going?”, she stepped in. What was it with men and their egos?

Both men in question gladly took the opportunity to busy themselves. The ranger was setting up the large fur tent while Vilkas built a small campfire with the rest of their firewood supply. When he tried to light the fire with a flint she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

Bending over the wood she breathed: “YOL.”

The fire sprang to life, licking at the wood, supplying them with warmth against the cold night.

“I still can’t get used to seeing you use the Voice”, her brother admitted.

“You should see what she can do fighting”, the ranger remarked, his back turned to them as he pushed down a peg.

Her brother was just about to reply with a snarky comment on his own, but she was faster.

“Could you two just shut up? I’m done for today”, she sighed, “I know that you two don’t like each other.”

There was enough on her mind already, she had no need to also worry about them being at each other’s throat.

“Sorry princess”, Bishop came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders, “Why don’t you go and sleep? I’ll watch over you.”

Whatever the reason behind the uncharacteristic kindness he treated her with, she was grateful for it. Nodding to him she turned to find her bedroll. Not caring that she was still wearing her dirty and blood splattered armor she crawled into it, closing her eyes. Feeling exhausted and empty, it didn’t take her long to sink into a dreamless sleep.

 

Bishop smiled when he saw her peaceful sleeping face. She seemed the be spared the grief and pain in sleep at least. He could sympathize with her anger, he remembered the pain he had felt when his elder brother had been taken from him. After that, the only thing that had kept him going was to kill the man that had been responsible.

Turning around he saw Vilkas silver eyes bore into him like icicles. It was obvious that the other didn’t like him and Ylva’s revelation likely hadn’t made it any better. Bishop cared little about the other one’s opinion, he didn’t like him either. He drew out his hunting knife and began sharpening the blade, keeping an eye on her brother.

“What are you _really_ doing here?”, Vilkas finally broke after half an hour of intense staring.

“Did the Silver Hand hit you too hard on the head or have you lost your hearing? I’m here to protect her”, Bishop fired back.

“We both know that you are not the man to care for anything but your own desires”, the Nord spat back.

“Pff, you don’t know shit about me”, Bishop let his blade glide over the small hone, “But I do know a thing or two about you.”

“Don’t mock me, ranger. She won’t wake fast enough to save your ass this time”, the Nord placed a hand on the claymore laying at his side.

“Did I hurt your feelings, woof-woof? Will you lose your temper? I don’t think she would forgive you a second time if you did”, Bishop grinned smugly.

“You bastard. How much did she tell you?”, Vilkas face became red with anger.

“For one that you were the one that messed up her pretty face”, the ranger loved seeing the other getting worked up.

“Thank you for reminding me”, the Companion gritted his teeth, “Not like I don’t remember that every time I look at her. But why would you care – isn’t the only thing on your mind to get into her bed anyway?”

“I _care_ for her, especially since she doesn’t seem to care for herself”, the ranger blurted and stuck the knife in the ground before him. Why was it so easy to confess these things to a stranger that so openly disliked him, when he didn’t want to acknowledge them for himself?

“She does what honor demands of her”, Vilkas replied.

“That stupid honor will get her killed in the end. Don’t you see that?”, Bishop shot back, “She may be Dragonborn but she is still just a woman – a woman that can be hurt and nearly died doing what honor demanded. I’m not letting that happen again.”

For a moment the Nord just stared at him.

“I see”, he finally said, “I get why she wants you by her side. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“I bet you want her for yourself, don’t you?”

“What? No! She’s my little sister”, Vilkas looked truly disgusted by the proposition.

“But not in blood”, Bishop wanted to make sure.

“That doesn’t make a difference to me. She’s my little sister. So if you ever hurt her I will find you and snap every bone in your body”, the Companion glared at him.

“I’ll keep it in mind”, the ranger threw a glance behind him. Ylva was still soundly asleep, not showing any sign she heard anything that had been said.


	23. Death to the Hunters

"We're here", Vilkas reigned in his stallion and jumped down.

"What makes you so sure this is their chief camp?", Ylva joined her brother. Before them lay a small ruin that once might have been a fort, half buried in the snow somewhere in Winterhold close to the border to the Pale. It looked deserted, were it not for the two sentries checking the area.

"Aela found it. She was arguing with Kodlak about it when they showed up", her brother answered when he put on his helmet.

"Well, Gramps never liked us going after the Silver Hand", Ylva admitted. She put her helmet on and grabbed her axes.

"Are you ready?", she turned to look at her small group. The ranger nodded, his bow already in his hands.

"Let's do this", Ylva stepped out of the bushes hiding them, the other followed. An arrow whistled through the air as the sentry on the roof saw her. Ignoring the shower of arrows she rushed towards the Orc guarding the entrance.

"You will not leave here alive!", the Orc bellowed as he swung his silver sword her way.

Ylva dodged the attack and dug her axes into his exposed left side, easily cutting through the leather of his armor. Red blotches of blood shone bright like rubies in the snow when she pulled her axes free. She turned around for the second sentry, seeing the bandit collapse with an arrow through his heart.

The air was filled with blood, not just fresh but old one as well. She didn't need to look around to find the source of the smell. Near the entrance, mounted on two wooden spikes were the heads of werewolves.

"No one we know", she said turning to her brother, "Might have been two wild ones."

Vilkas nodded, his face a grim mask of hatred: "Let's get on with these bastards."

They encountered more of their brethren similarly mutilated within the next chambers as they made their way down. Behind a door, they entered a large hall. Several heads turned their way and weapons were drawn.

"We will have your hide, werewolf", a woman shouted at them.

"You will not", Ylva jumped into the air, her axes raised above her head. When she came down she struck the woman, her blades cutting deep into the flesh. Two others were running towards her. She gathered her breath and let the Thu'um engulf them in fire.

"YOL TOR!"

Their screams as the fire scorched their skin echoed in the hall. Ylva was quickly on them, putting them out of their misery. A door to her left opened and new enemies spilled into the room. She heard Bishop laughing behind her as he showered them with arrows, using the top of the stairs to his advantage. Vilkas had caught up with her and his claymore neatly chopped off an arm.

"If death is what you want, you'll have it!", he roared.

Within moments every member of the Silver Hand in the room lay dead. Ylva looked around to make sure neither of her companions has been hurt before moving forward. Reaching for the door in front of her she found it to be blocked.

"Tch, they must be really stupid if they think a blocked door would stop us", she said.

"There is another hall here", Bishop was pointing towards an opening.

"Smells an awful lot like a trap", Ylva remarked, "Stay close."

Moving forward they walked through several empty rooms before standing in front of another door.

"I'll go in first", she said, but a hand stopped her.

"Ladyship, do you think that's a good idea? You don't know what awaits us on the other side", Bishop warned her.

"I'm well aware of that", she replied, "But we won't find out if we're just standing around. I have the best armor from all of us, so whatever they throw our way I have the best chances to survive."

She pulled her arm free from his grip and opened the door. It led to another gallery opening with a larger staircase going down.

"Get them!", the bandits were already waiting for them. Following her instinct, Ylva moved to the left where a bandit stood hidden in the shadows. His surprised look was still on him when she chopped off his head.

Her brother had already charged into the group down below, his claymore lethal for anyone coming close to its blade. Ylva moved to join him but was attacked form an Orc suddenly appearing to her right. Barely managing to bring her axes up in time she dodged the blade.

"You want a piece of her you'll have to get through me!", Bishop bellowed behind her. An arrow whistled by her head, striking the bandit in the arm. He winced and tore the arrow free of his green flesh. Using the short window, she inhaled and breathed fire.

"Ah, it burns!", the Orc tried to escape, trying to extinguish the flames. Reacting quickly she let her axes dance through the air, slicing his neck.

Joining Vilkas on the lower ground she tackled the bandit to his right, bringing him off balance and creating an opening for her brother. Karnwyr had thrown another one to the ground, his fangs digging deep inside his victim's throat. Reacting to a movement to her left she whirled around, striking another bandit in the face.

"Everyone's alright?", she asked when she saw that none of the bandits were alive anymore.

I'm fine", the ranger ensured her.

Turning around she saw that her brother had been less lucky.

"Brother, you're bleeding", she said while her hand quickly reached for a healing potion.

"It's just a small cut, never mind", Vilkas wiped the blood off his face.

"You know how silver affects us. Come on, drink this potion at least", she handed him a healing potion.

They fought themselves through many more rooms, but no matter how many of the Silver Hand there were, they were no match for them. Going further down they ended up in the cellar. The stench of blood was stronger here than anywhere else. Turning around they found themselves in a torture chamber, the fresh body of a mutilated werewolf still strapped to the stretching bank in the center of the room. A white-haired bandit turned around to face them.

"Oh, I was just running out of werewolves to torture", his lips contorted into a wicked smile.

"Too bad", Ylva spat. She felt nauseous and angry looking at the disfigured corpse. Not all werewolves were good people, she knew that, but no one deserved to die in such a way.

"Tell me, little wolf – do you scream? Your mother screamed wonderfully", the torture licked his lips and his eyes showed a spark of recognition.

"You...", Ylva froze, her heart beating wildly, "You killed my mother?"

"Oh yes. She was a worthy victim. Nearly three days she managed to survive", the man laughed.

"I will end you!", the hunger for his blood became almost too much to bear. "WHULD!"

With the whirlwind thrusting her forward she hit him with full force, smashing him hard against the floor. She could hear the ribs crack under the impact, making him lose a hold on his weapons.

"Let's see how much pain you can withstand", she moved closer to him, tossing her axes to the ground. He didn't deserve a quick death, she wanted him to suffer.

"FUS ROH DA!"

The Thu'um hit him as he was trying to get back on his feet. Again she heard that satisfying cracking of bones.

"That's nothing", the Silver Hand spat, blood dripping from his lips.

She took his head in her hands looking deep into the other one's eyes and squeezed, squeezed so hard her arms trembled.

At first, he just grinned back at her, almost as if he wanted to laugh. But the fear in his eyes grew as he realized that she wouldn't let go. A smile swept over her face as she felt the bones of his skull giving in to her force. With a final crunch, the life went out of the bandit.

Shaking badly she stepped away, hiding her face from her companions, afraid that the smile was still showing. She never thought she would be able to do something like that. Only when a sob escaped her lips she realized she had started to cry.

"Ylva", the ranger had come closer, placing a hand on her shoulder, "It's all right."

"I want every one of them dead", she cried softly, "Every last of this wretched group. No one will be spared."

"We will kill them all, princess. I promise you that no one will get away", he promised her.

"But for that, we need to go forward, sister", Vilkas replied.

 

Bishop shot him an angry glance. How could he say that? Didn't he see that she was too shaken up to continue? To Oblivion, even he was shaken by what he had just witnessed. Even as a werewolf Ylva had not cared much for cruelty. The lives she had ended, she had brought to a quick end. But this, this had been torture.

"You are right brother", Ylva nodded.

"Are you sure?", Bishop asked her, "We can take a break here."

"No", she shook her head, "I need to do this now."

 

She shrugged off his hand and picked up her axes, her fingers shaking like crazy. The ranger went after her, watching her worriedly. Feeling his eyes on his back she touched the small amulet around her neck. Please Talos, give me the strength to see this through and let it be over quickly.

 

Her prayer seemed to have been answered. They entered another hall on which far side she saw a barred door. This must be the other side then of that locked door. Three bandits quickly got up from the table they had been sitting at. Had they been drinking, obvious to the sound of battle all around them?

Vilkas charged in with his claymore drawn, yelling: "I'll rip your heart out!"

A bandit dodged his swing and came towards her. Without hesitating, she breathed: "SU!"

The axes danced through the air and finally bit into flesh, decapitating the bandit. Looking over to Vilkas she saw Karnwyr biting into a bandits arm, rendering the one immobile. Her brother saw his window and shove his claymore through the other one's chest. Two down – so where was the last of them?

"Argh", a yelp from the corner of the room made her turn to see Bishop with a sword sticking out of his right shoulder.

"Just...die", the bandit spat.

"Not today", Bishop groaned. His left hand came up and Ylva only saw the glimmer of steel before his knife cut through the other one's throat.

"Bishop!", she exclaimed. Within the blink of an eye, she was by his side, easing him to his knees.

"Fuck, that hurts", he blurted his face a grimace of pain.

"We have to pull out the sword", Ylva said, fear for him filling her mind, overshadowing everything else, "Brother, help me."

"What do you want me to do?", her brother asked.

"You pull out the sword when I tell you to", she was fumbling with her pouches, digging for a potion of regeneration. Bishop was bleeding badly and she wasn't going to take any chances.

"Here, drink this", she finally found the potion and held it to his lips. He drank obediently.

"Are you ready?", she looked him in the eyes.

"Get it over with. This really stings", he gritted his teeth.

"Now brother", she already had her waterskin in her hand to quickly wash out the wound.

Vilkas pulled the sword out. Bishop groaned and warm blood splattered on her hand. She quickly let water pour over the wound, hoping that the blade had not been too dirty. With shaking fingers she uncorked another healing potion and poured the contents into the bleeding wound.

With the potions working Bishop relaxed a bit. "Thanks. I'll be fine now."

His left hand found hers and squeezed it reassuringly. He made an attempt to stand up, but his legs weren't supporting him just jet.

"Sit. The wound needs a little time to fully heal. And you've lost some blood", she gently touched his face.

"Ylva, come, look at this", Vilkas had moved away from them and stood by the table. Bishop let go of her hand and nodded encouragingly.

"What is it?", she went over to him and looked at the table, following his gaze. What she found took her by surprise.

"What in Oblivion?", she picked up a piece from the table, "When did these bastards get their hands on the shards of Wuuthrad?"

"They must have stolen them when they attacked Jorrvaskr", Vilkas looked really pale.

"What the hell is Wuuthrad?", Bishop asked.

"Wuuthrad is Ysgramor's battleax. With it he drove the elves out of Skyrim", Ylva explained, "But it got destroyed and the shards have been scattered all over Skyrim. We have been searching for the shards for generations and had gathered almost all of them."

"Seems the Silver Hand had been looking for them as well", Vilkas said.

"Seems so", she gathered the shards into one of her pouches, "Whatever the reason why the Silver Hand were wanting to have them. They should be in Jorrvaskr, that's where they belong."

Her brother looked around and then nodded to himself.

"The blood of our lost ones has been paid for in the blood of our enemies. Come sister", he placed a hand on her shoulder, "Let's go home."


	24. Grieving and Broken

The sun was shining down on the gathering at the Skyforge. All of the Companions were there and many of the townsfolk had come as well. Even Jarl Balgruuf had come down from the palace to pay his respect. Directly above the ever-gleaming coals of the forge right under the hawk’s wings, Kodlak lay in state. His silver hair had been plaited and he had been dressed in a white robe. He looked like a Jarl ready for his final passing to Sovengarde.

Around the forge, all the members of the Circle had gathered in a semicircle. Ylva stood in between Aela and Farkas. After having arrived in the morning, having ridden through the night, she had just taken the time to clean up and change into her Wolf Armor. She would not come to Kodlak’s funeral covered in the dried blood of those that had killed him. He never was one for revenge and it would have pained him greatly.

Eorlund stepped forward a torch in his hand. “Who will start?”

All of them looked at Aela. It had been decided that she would be the torchbearer since she had not been partaking in the spilling of blood.

“I will begin”, her sister said, her voice firm and her hand steady as she accepted the torch from Eorlund.

She stepped closer to the forge and spoke the ritual words of passing: “Before the ancient flame…”

“We grieve”, the Circle answered in union.

“At this loss…”, Eorlund’s deep voice said.

“We weep.”

“For the fallen...”, Vilkas continued.

“We shout.”

“And for ourselves…”, Farkas' voice sounded strangely distant to Ylva’s ears.

“We take our leave.”

Aela slowly walked over to the forge and lowered the torch. The wood quickly caught fire. Within seconds the whole stack burned brightly with Kodlak in its midst. The light of the flames danced over his face. For a brief moment, Ylva thought he had come back from the dead but the moment passed, leaving her heart aching. She felt strangely detached as if she was watching everything not with her own eyes but someone else’s. When her sister started to speak again she hardly took notice.

“His spirit is departed”, Aela said to the gathering, “Let us now withdraw and grieve our last together.”

Ylva felt the others leaving and thought she might have felt Farkas hand on her shoulder, beckoning her to come. Her feet seemed stuck to the ground and she couldn’t look away from the flames slowly burning what was left from the man she had loved like a grandfather to ashes. How could she go on living without him? He had made her who she was today, had taught her to fight, to trust in herself and in others. Had shown her courage and given her guidance whenever she had lost her way. Who would she now look to for help?

 

“YLVA!”, she nearly jumped when a thundering voice yelled into her ear. Confused she looked around only to find Eorlund standing right next to her.

“Finally”, the old man sighed, “I was worried I’d never get through to you, lass.”

“I...erm..,I’m sorry”, she stumbled. How long had he been trying to get her attention? Running a hand over her face to collect herself she was surprised that her fingers felt wetness covering her cheeks. When had she started to cry? Quickly she wiped the tears away, knowing that Eorlund hated it when she became emotional.

“Do you have the fragments of Wuuthrad still?”, Eorlund asked, clearly trying to get her mind off things.

“Ah!”, lost in her own grief she had forgotten about them. Fumbling with her pouches until she found the right one she said: “I have them right here. I would be honored if you kept them. There are safer in your hands.”

“Don’t get too flowery with me lass”, he weighed the pouch in his hands, looking at her as to determine whether to ask more of her. With a small nod, he continued: “I have a small favor to ask of you. There’s another piece, that Kodlak always kept close to himself. Would you go to his chambers and bring it back for me? I’m not sure I’m the best one to go through his things.”

“And why should I be any better? You have been a close friend all his life.”

“Lass, you were the closest to his heart, you know that. That’s why he gave you that special task, did he not? That’s why you were away? Man had his reasons.”

Being reminded of how she had failed him made her chest hurt but she nodded.

“I will go”, she whispered.

Her feet finally obeyed her and she turned her back to the remains of her grandfather.

 

It was quiet in the main hall. In a corner, the whelps had gathered around a table. In passing, she met eyes with Ria. The young warrior’s eyes were red, probably from crying. Kodlak had been one of her childhood heroes. Ylva felt her own tears well up again and quickly looked away. She didn’t want anyone to see her tears, wanted the whelps to at least have someone left to look up to.

Down in the living quarter it was eerily quiet as if all life had died. With each step towards the far side of the hall, the uneasy feeling in her chest grew stronger. She dreaded going into his room where he was ever present, where his scent still lingered. It took all her will force to continue on. Her hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment before she could muster the courage to open it.

The room had been left tidy but otherwise untouched. There was a stack of books on one of the tables in the corner. The bed had been made, but you could see the dent long years of use had made into the mattress. Kodlak had preferred the left side of the bed. When she was little he had sometimes allowed her to snuggle up to him on the other side. She felt a strange prickle run over her skin, almost like nausea but then again not. Fighting down the growing uneasiness she turned to the nightstand and opened the drawer.

At first, she thought it wasn’t there at all. He had kept some books in there, the “Mystery of Talara” and a copy of “A Dance in Fire”. She remembered the times he had read them to her. When she wanted to turn and look somewhere else a glimmer of steel caught her eye. Rummaging around the drawer she found a piece of metal sticking out of a leather journal. She took the journal and opened it. The harsh handwriting was clearly Kodlak’s. The piece of Wuuthrad had been used to mark the last entry. Hesitantly she began to read:

I’m amazed that Aela thinks she can keep a secret among this drunken rabble. Especially with the loss of Skjor (my heart aches), emotions are fraying and the walls of discretion are the first to fall.

Apparently, she had brought Ylva around and they are waging their own separate war against the Silver Hand in retaliation for Skor’s death. Their hearts are noble, but their course of vengeance is running hot and the gods know that Ylva has more reason than any of us to hate the Silver Hand. How many of her family has she lost to them?

She shows great valor, even in this more underhanded time. Though I was surprised when the secret in her blood was discovered I could not think of someone better suited for the fate of a Dragonborn. I have high hopes for her destiny, whatever the gods will throw her way I’m sure she will overcome. Even before she appeared in my dream facing with me the wolf within me, I knew she would be the Harbinger to succeed me, but the dream seems to be the final sign.

I have received few dreams over the course of my life, but when they come, I have learned to trust them. I have also learned to trust the instincts of my heart, which tells me that Ylva can carry the Companions legacy as truly as any residing in Jorrvaskr, especially with the loss of Skjor. Aela is too solitary, Vilkas too fiery and Farkas too kind-hearted. Only Ylva stands as a true warrior who can keep a still mind amidst these burning hearts.

I will not speak to her of any of this, though. It is too much to burden another with. My hope is that we will keep counsel over the years as we did ever since she joined the ranks of the Circle. There have been a number of Harbingers in her bloodline and I’m sure she would do them honor, but all things in time.

Firstly, she is assisting me with the matter of our curse. With her help, we have found the vile creatures that tricked us, the Witches of Glenmoril. It would appear that our path to the cure is not without some poetic justice for the tricksters. Ylva has left to take care of it. I hope she will return safely.

 

The strange nauseous feeling overcame her again and her legs gave in. With bare luck, she missed the bedpost with her head. A strangled sob escaped her lips. The tears she had held back streamed down her cheeks, blurring the room around her. How could Gramps think so highly of her? She hadn’t deserved his trust. It was all her fault. If she would have never brought the fight to the Silver Hand they would have never lashed out against Jorrvaskr. If she would have let Vilkas go to take care of Thorn and headed for the witches first they would have both been back to protect the mead hall. And if she would have never lost herself in Bishop’s arms she would have been there. She had become too selfish, the gods themselves seemed to have punished her. She was the Dragonborn – a tool created by the gods to protect men. Maybe she wasn’t allowed to have happiness for herself. _You win,_ she silently voiced to the gods, _I won’t fight my destiny anymore. I will serve and protect without taking any happiness for myself, be the tool you want me to be._

 _And what of the ranger?_ The voice in the back of her head chimed in. Her heart clenched even more. She would have to send him away, even if it meant to tear her heart out. No matter how much she yearned to have him by her side, how much she wanted to give in to the hunger he had woken within her, he was a distraction. The path she was set on was a path she would have to walk alone from now on. 

 

When Bishop found her, she was still curled up on the floor, quietly sobbing. Since their arrival in Whiterun, he had kept his distance, respecting her and her siblings’ need to grief in private. But he had kept an eye on her even from the distance. When she hadn’t come up from the living quarters for a while he followed her. Ha had feared she would collapse sooner or later. She had tried to stay strong for her friends and family but he had seen the shadows in her eyes, the strain of keeping it together. He had once done the same, a long time ago.

“It’s all right, ladyship”, kneeling down next to her he placed a hand on her shoulder. At hearing his voice, she tensed up. He could see the muscles of her jaw working as if she was trying to say something.

“Don’t push yourself too hard. It’s ok to weep for your loved ones”, he told her, his voice soothing and full of understanding.

“I’m fine”, she croaked, her voice raw from crying. She turned away from him, quickly rubbing a hand over her face.

“No, you’re not”, Bishop replied, irritated by her reaction. Why was she suddenly so cold towards him?

Ylva stood up, avoiding his gaze.

“I said I’m fine”, her voice was louder this time. It made him angry that she wouldn’t look him in the face. He tried to turn her around, but she simply pushed his hands away.

“The fuck is wrong, ladyship? Why won’t you look at me?”, he was trying to get through to her. What had happened in this room? Had it been a mistake not to follow her right away?

“You should leave”, she whispered. Her words felt like a slap in the face. Why did she suddenly want him gone? Did she not tell him how much she trusted him over and over again? Why did she suddenly want to be left alone?

“If that’s your wish”, he finally managed to reply, the hurt and anger slipping into his voice. He turned around and left, Karnwyr reluctantly following him.


	25. An Old Man's Wish

 “The old man had one wish before he died. And he didn’t get it. It’s as simple as that”, Vilkas shot at Aela.

“Being moon-born is not so much of a curse as you might think, Vilkas”, Aela crossed her arms.

“That’s fine for you, but he wanted to be clean!”, the tall Nord continued, “He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovengarde. But all that was taken from him.”

 “And you avenged him”, Aela replied.

“Kodlak did not care for vengeance”, Farkas cut in.

“No Farkas, he didn’t”, Vilkas tone was full of regret, “And that’s not what this is about! We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood.”

“You’re right”, Aela sighed, “That’s what he wanted. And he deserves to have it.”

“Ylva, you have said you found a way to lift the curse?”, her brother turned to her.

She had been silent ever since she had entered the Underforge, keeping to the shadows to hide her face. Now she stepped forward, ignoring the worried glances her brothers exchanged. It didn’t matter what they thought, she had decided to never let emotions get in the way of her duty. She had decided to never feel anything again.

“We need to go to the tomb of Ysgramor. The fire warding the tomb of evil ghost will help cleanse the curse, as long as his spirit will be there, too”, she explained, her tone neutral and her voice unwavering, “Once we're there, I’ll take care of it.”

“The Tomb of Ysgramor?”, Farkas looked at her in bewilderment, “And what makes you think his spirit will be there?”

“ _There the souls of the Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel_ ”, Aela cited and quickly added, “We can’t even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad and it’s in pieces like it has been for a thousand years.”

“And dragons were just stories. And the elves once ruled Skyrim”, Eorlund’s deep voice made them all turn around, “Just because something is doesn’t mean it must be. The blade is a weapon, a tool. Tools are made to be broken and repaired.”

The smith carried something. When he came close enough for everyone to see they all gasped.

“Is that?”, Vilkas stepped forward as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, “Did you repair the blade?”

“This is the first time I’ve had all the pieces, thanks to our Shield-Sister here”, he nodded towards Ylva, “ _The flames of a hearo can reforge the shattered._ The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad. And now it will take you to meet him once more.”

He came towards her and held out the battleax.

“As the one that will clean his spirit it is only right that you would carry Wuuthrad into battle”, he said.

Reluctantly she took Wuuthrad. She didn’t feel that she deserved that honor but her Siblings nodded approvingly. When their fingers touched for a brief moment Eorlund raised a brow questioningly at her. _What have you learned in Kodlak’s room?_ he seemed to say.

“The rest of you, prepare to journey to the Tomb of Ysgramor. For Kodlak!”, the Greymane called out to the rest.

Squaring her shoulders Ylva nodded. She turned around to her siblings: “We will go to the tomb and save his spirit. Tonight, you should rest and prepare for the journey ahead. It’s a long way ahead of us. At dawn, we will ride for Winterhold and the Sea of Ghosts. For Kodlak!”

Moved by her display of determination her siblings echoed: “For Kodlak!”

As they left the Underforge Farkas put a hand on her shoulder.

“Will you stay with us, sister?”, he asked, “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, brother. I need to prepare myself for the journey. At dawn I’ll meet you at the stables”, she said in an even tone.

“Please stay Ylva”, he pleaded but she just shook her head. When she left she felt her brother’s eyes on her back.

 

The lodge was empty when she came home. She had half expected him to be waiting for her there, confronting her. But he seemed to have understood her perfectly well. Looking into his room she found the little stuff he had kept there all gone. He must have come to pick it up after she had sent him away. Bishop knew where she hid a spare key, so getting inside wouldn’t have been a problem. Maybe it was better that way, that he left without confronting her again, sparing her the pain of farewell. Sighing she turned around, determined to find a new spot to hide her spare key.

Later, when she soaked in her hot tub looking into the night sky, she thought out loud: “I’m sorry Bishop. But this is the best for the both of us.”

 

Snow was falling and it was bitter cold when they finally arrived at the tomb. Ylva had been here before, as had the twins. The outside of the tomb was no sight to behold. It was small and half buried under layers and layers of snow. On the other side of the heavy iron door, they were greeted by a likelihood of the first Harbinger himself. Ysgramor’s statue stood tall and proudly, his arms held in front of him as if he was carrying something.

“Be cautious of the ghosts. The first Companions will put you to the test”, Vilkas turned to her, “Be ready for an honorable battle.”

They had all been told the stories of the tomb of Ysgramor when they were kids. He rested with the remains of his most trusted generals of the original 500 men. They were waiting for them, wanting them to prove themselves worthy.

“I will. You’re not coming to see Kodlak then?”, Ylva replied even toned. It was the first thing she had said that day. She felt that talking was pointless now. A tool didn’t need to talk, it just needed to be pointed in the right direction.

“Kodlak was right. I let vengeance rule my heart. I regret nothing of what we did at Driftshade. But I can’t go any further with my mind fogged or my heart grieved”, he confessed, “You need to go, though. Only you know how to cleanse his spirit.”

Ylva nodded. Bracing herself she reached for Wuuthrad and went to the statue of Ysgramor.  The blade fit perfectly into his hands. Once it was returned to its former master something clicked and a door opened. She stepped away from the statue, leaving the blade there. Once they would return to Jorrvaskr the blade would find its right place within the mead hall, as it had always been.

“Stay safe”, Vilkas sat down, clearly intending to wait for their return.

Without hesitation, she reached for her axes and made for the passage. She wanted to get this over quickly. Aela and Farkas followed sharing worried looks.

 

From his hiding spot behind a rock Bishop had watched them disappear into the tomb one by one. Their horses had been left outside, huddling together to fight off the cold despite their thick hide. Should he follow them or should he wait for them to come out again? What were they doing this far away from Jorrvaskr anyway? He knew only little of the history of Skyrim with his family not being one for the great stories anyway. But it must be important if all the Circle had decided to ride for days through snow and wind to come here. Unsure what to do he rubbed his hands together and grumbled to himself.

After Ylva had told him to leave he had been pissed. What had gotten into her that she would turn cold on him so suddenly? And why couldn’t she at least say it to his face? It had felt like a punch in the gut after everything they had been through the last weeks. So much for the trust, she said she had for him. He had taken all his things, determined to never cross paths with her again, and left for the woods of Falkreath. To Oblivion with the woman, he could care less what would happen to her.

But whatever he did, his mind still wandered back to her. To the emptiness in her beautiful hazel eyes, to the forced smile whenever she said that she was fine. _Fine my ass,_ he thought. The loss of her grandfather had been very hard on her, that was clear as day. She had not been herself at all since then, been very quiet and drawn into herself. No matter what either he or her brother had said to her, nothing seemed to get through. He was worried that she would do something very stupid, throwing herself into battle even more recklessly as she already did. Torn between his anger and his fear for her he made up his mind and went back to the lodge, deciding to follow her.

He had tracked her and her siblings all the way to this godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere. Following them had been fairly easy. Karnwyr was yearning to get back to Ylva and had easily caught her scent. Even Balo had been behaving himself ever since he had picked him up at the stables. The stablemaster wasn’t even surprised to see him, come to think of it.

Now his fingers were growing numb from the cold and he didn’t know if he would last very long out in the ice-cold wind anyway. Cursing he left his hiding spot and made his way over to the tomb. The stallion was more than happy to join the other horses for a bit of warmth. The ranger pushed open the iron door, bracing himself for whatever awaited him on the other side. When he entered the first chamber he was greeted by both a statue of Ysgramor and a familiar face.

“I was wondering when you’d show up”, Vilkas welcomed him with a smirk.

“What made you think I would come?”, Bishop was on guard. He hadn’t expected that someone would be waiting for him. Had they caught sight of him when he had followed them? A werewolf’s senses were better than a mere human’s, but he hadn’t thought that they were that good.

“I knew you’d follow her. Haven’t you told me you wanted to keep her safe, that you cared for her life?”, the Nord got up and stood face to face with him, making him look up to meet his gaze. Bishop resisted the urge to back away and instead squared his shoulders. He wasn’t letting the other intimidate him.

“Tell me, ranger”, Vilkas said, “Tell me why you left after the funeral?”

“She told me to”, Bishop admitted, the memory involuntarily stuck in his mind.

“Did she now?”, the other raised a brow.

“I followed her down into the basement after she hadn’t come up for a while”, the ranger explained, “I don’t know _what_ happened down there. When I found her, she was cowering on the floor and sobbing. I had feared that she would break at some point. She had been trying too hard to keep her act together. But when I talked to her she walled up, told me to leave, and so I did.”

“But you came back”, there was approval swinging in the other one’s voice, as was a question.

“Don’t ask me why, I’m still asking that myself”, Bishop sighed and looked away, “It just felt wrong after everything that had happened between us. And I couldn’t get her out of my head. That’s why I’m here.”

“I’m glad you came”, Vilkas admitted, making the ranger raise a brow in surprise.

“Ever since the funeral she’s been different. We all took the death of Kodlak very hard, but for Ylva it seemed as if all happiness and livelihood that made her who she was just disappeared. I think she blames herself for his death”, Vilkas explained, “I did, too, at first. She is the strongest Companion, not only because she is the Dragonborn. With her, we would not have lost to the Silver Hand. But it wasn’t her fault that she had been out doing Kodlak’s bidding.”

They both fell silent for a moment.

“You should go to her”, Vilkas looked him straight into his eyes, “I don’t know what happened between you two, but it’s obvious that there is something going on. I haven’t seen her smile so often as when she’s around you. Maybe you can finally get through to her. It pains me to see her like this.”

“Where is she?”, Bishop asked.

“Through there”, he gestured towards the open passageway to the rest of the tomb, “She is facing the ghosts of the original 500 Companions together with Farkas and Aela.”

“With only Aela”, another voice said.

“Brother?”, Vilkas turned around to see his twin come back the same way he had left with the others an hour ago.

“Our little sis, she’s like a stranger. She fights as if she feels no joy in it as if her fire has gone out”, the big guy was helplessly running a hand through his almost black hair, “I couldn’t take it anymore. I said that I was scared of frost spiders and left them. She didn’t even make fun of that, simply nodded and went on.”

The brothers shared worried glances, an unspoken question between them. What had happened to their sister? Bishop had heard enough. Whistling for Karnwyr he walked over to the passageway leading down the stairs. He had to find her, had to confront her. Make her look into his eyes to see for himself if there was still some spark of her old self left in there.

“Good luck”, the brothers called after him.


	26. Reunion

“Interesting how most of the ghost are women”, Aela smiled, “Don’t you think?”

Ylva shrugged and looked around for the next hallway. She didn’t care if her opponents were men or women, spiders or something else. Her duty was to take care of them and so she did. Since when did a tool care what it killed, after all?

Walking down the stairs to another burial chamber she could already hear the ghosts whispering.

“Who dares to disturb my rest?”, a bluish shadow to her left was enough to warn her. Her axes cut through the ghostly head and it disappeared immediately. Turning around she saw two more approaching.

“YOL TOR!” Her flames only scorched the ghosts, but her blades quickly followed when she sprinted towards them. Not looking at their ghostly bodies disappearing she moved on. She felt strangely detached from all of this. Nothing seemed to matter to her anymore.

They reached a dead end after the next flight of stairs. Expecting some sort of secret passage, it didn’t take long to spot the lever to open the door. She turned the handle and a door slit open near the front of the little hallway she was standing in. Her sister hurried after her when she moved into the next chamber, leading to a doorway.

Again, the ghosts of the ancient Companions were waiting for them.

“Join the dead, enjoy the endless slumber”, they greeted them.

She sprinted towards the first one, her ax quickly dispelling the ghost as it struck his throat. The second she struck in the chest. Aela took another one out with her arrows. But before her sister could draw another arrow the last one of them disappeared as an ax flew through the air.

“At least leave some for me”, Aela complained, “It’s no fun fighting with you.”

Ylva collected her ax and was already on her way up the final set of She felt that they were finally at their goal. Going through a doorway they stared directly into the eternal flame, warding off the sea-ghosts from causing harm to the Companions final resting place. But there was more in the room than just the blue fire.

Kodlak stood there, warming his hands by the fire. Her heart leaped in her chest at the sight of him.

“Gramps!”, she cried out as she leaped forward, pulling off her helmet.

“Hello pup”, he smiled at her, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Is that really you?”, Ylva felt overwhelmed by the surge of emotions within her. She had wanted herself not to feel anything anymore. Willed herself to be the tool the gods had wanted. But seeing him here she was overcome by happiness.

“Of course,”, his grin widened, “My fellow Harbingers and I have been warming ourselves here, trying to evade Hircine. We’ve all been wanting to see you again.”

“Hello my little furball”, a voice to her left said. Her eyes widened in disbelief. No this couldn’t be. Why was _she_ here?

“Mama?”, she slowly turned towards the voice.

She blinked several times to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Bodil Axe-Dancer was as beautiful as she remembered her. Her hair shone red despite the ghostly blue hue engulfing her entire body. Her blue eyes shone warmly down on her daughter as she stepped forward. How could this be?

“Surprised to see me?”, her mother smiled.

“I didn’t know that you were a Harbinger, mom”, Ylva said.

“Only for a few days. When Askar was dying the choice for a successor was between me and Kodlak. The choice fell on me. But when I died only a week later, Kodlak was appointed”, Bodil explained, “I’m so happy to see you again, furball. You’ve grown into such a strong and remarkable woman. I’m sure all our ancestors look down on you proudly.”

“Ylva, who are you talking to?”, Aela was looking at her as if she was crazy, “I only see Kodlak here.”

“You see only me because your heart knows only me as the Companions leader, my lass”, the old Nord said, “Ylva sees more since she has known more. I’d wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors. And we see them all. The ones in Sovengarde. The ones trapped with us in Hircine’s realm.”

“And they all see you. You’ve brought honor to the name of the Companions, to the name of the Twice-Named clan. We won’t soon forget it”, her mother gently stroked Ylva’s cheek. The ghostly hand felt cool on her skin and made her shiver.

“Kodlak has told me that my little furball has found a mate to run with”, her mother winked at her, her eyes sparkling with mirth, “Where is he? Has he not come with you?”

“I…I sent him away”, Ylva winced at the mention of Bishop. Her heart felt tight with pain and yearning.

“Why in Talos name would you do that?”, Kodlak asked surprised.

“I’m Dragonborn. I’m a tool made by the gods to serve the people”, she looked her grandfather in the eyes, “There’s no room for my own happiness.”

“Bullshit.” All heads turned toward the doorway. Ylva’s eyes widened in shock as she saw the ranger slowly coming up the stairs.

“Bishop!”, she exclaimed, “What are you _doing_ here?”

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. She had sent him away, wanted him to forget her. Seeing him made her heart ache even worse.

“I’ve come to talk some sense into you”, he replied as he came closer, his eyes fixed on her.

“Is that the man you told me about?”, her mother asked Kodlak.

“Yes”, Kodlak nodded.

“My little furball has a good taste in men I see”, Bodil said approvingly.

Ylva only noticed that her feet had been moving when she met Bishop in the middle of the room. It was him, no doubt. All the feelings she had pushed to the back of her head came forth. The memory of their last talk came up, too. She felt guilty.

“I told you to leave”, she whispered, her voice full of regret and question. Why in Oblivion was he here?

“I don’t give a fuck”, the ranger replied, his eyes gleaming with a challenge, “Don’t think you can send me away again. And don’t give me the bullshit about you deserving no happiness.”

“Every time I allow myself to be selfish, something bad happens to the people I care about”, she blurted, feeling tears well up but tried her best to fight them down, “I won’t let that happen again. That’s why I have decided to walk this path alone.”

“Bullshit”, the ranger repeated, “Bad things happen, princess. Whether you like it or not. That has nothing to do with you. And the gods have nothing to do with that, either.”

“You don’t understand”, she argued, trying to turn away. He stopped her and grabbed her shoulders tightly, forcing her to look at him.

“No, you don’t get it”, his amber eyes glowed fiercely, “It’s not your fault that your grandfather died.”

“He is right, my pup”, Kodlak stepped in, “My death was not your doing. You can’t blame yourself for it. One way or another I would have died soon.”

“But if I’d been there you would still live!”, Ylva cried out, tears now streaming down your face, “I had taken too long.”

“Cut the crab!”, Aela cut in, “You are no more to blame than any of us. If I hadn’t waged the war on the Silver Hand as much as I did they wouldn’t have lashed out. If we all had been training more we might have fought them off on our own. But we can’t change it anymore!”

“But I can’t let people get killed because of me!”, Ylva pressed her eyes shut, “I can’t bear it anymore.”

“That’s not your choice to make”, Bishop argued, “People will always get hurt. You can’t protect everyone.”

“But I MUST! I’m the DRAGONBORN!”, she freed herself from Bishops hold and stepped back, right into the arms of her mother.

“Sweetie”, her mother placed her hands on her cheeks making her look into her beautiful blue eyes, “You weren’t created a tool. You were created from the love of your parents. From the moment I first felt you in my womb all I wanted for you was to be happy and so did your father. We don’t care that you were born with the soul of a dragon. You are our child and there is nothing you can do that will make us love you any less.”

“Oh mom”, Ylva sobbed, wrapping her arms around her mother’s ghostly body. Oh, how she wished that her mother was really there now, that she could feel her warmth, letting her heartbeat calm her own. She felt a cool touch as her mother stroked her hair soothingly.

“You are always overthinking. You get that from your dad”, her mother whispered into her hair, “Follow your heart, it won’t lead you astray.”

“Pup, listen to your mother”, Kodlak said, “We want you to be happy.”

“Mother?”, Bishop turned to Aela with his eyebrows raised in question.

“The ghost of her mother is here, too”, her sister explained quietly.

“I haven’t come here to cry”, Ylva sniffled as she let her mother go, “Gramps, I have the heads with me. I want to lift the curse. Though I don’t know if it will work on you since you are already dead.”

“I think it will. When you’re ready, throw one of them into the fire, it will release their magic”, Kodlak gestured to the blue flame.

Ylva’s hands were shaking when she opened her backpack, taking out one of the bags.

“I’m not sure what will happen”, she told everyone, “Prepare yourself for a fight.”

She opened the bag and pulled out the hagraven’s head. The red, bloodshot eyes seemed to stare at her and the white hair and skin looked even lighter in the blue light of the flame. She swallowed hard and threw the head into the fire.

When the head began to burn away Kodlak grunted as if in pain and doubled over. Afraid she had hurt him she wanted to rush to his side, but Bishop held her back.

“Look”, he commanded her.

A large red wolf was born from Kodlak’s body. It growled at them, wanting to drag him away. Remembering the dream her grandfather had described to them she reached for her axes and threw herself at the wolf. Aela and Bishop drew their bows and fired at the beastly ghost.

The red wolf spirit lunged at Ylva, his jaws almost biting into her arm. She dodged the attack quickly enough and struck the ghost in the throat. It whimpered but didn’t disappear. She jumped to her left avoiding a second attempt of the beast.

“SU!”

She danced around the wolf, slashing at the beast, ripping open the ghostly skin. Within moments the beast was dispelled.

“You did it”, Kodlak’s voice rang with laughter, “I feel that the curse has lifted.”

Her grandfather came towards her grinning broadly.

“I thank you all for this gift”, the smile changed and his expression became more pensive, “The other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though. Perhaps form Sovengarde the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds. It would be a battle of such triumph.”

“Speak for yourself”, Ylva’s mother remarked, “While some yearn for Sovengarde there are also those of us that wish to hunt for eternity.”

“Mom”, Ylva turned to her mother, “I have the other heads with me. Do you wish to go to Sovengarde? You could be with father again!”

“My furball”, Bodil sighed, “I yearn for your father every day. But it wouldn’t be right. I’m a wild beast and the Hunting Grounds have been my home for many years. It is where I belong.”

She gently stroked her daughter's hair: “I had hoped that you would join me there one day. But the Hunt isn’t for you. You may be a wolf in spirit, but you are also a dragon, made for grander things. You have my blessing to free yourself of the beast if you choose so. After all, I can always see you here again, in the tomb of Ysgramor.”

“But I’m no Harbinger”, Ylva replied, confusion showing on her face.

“Not yet”, Kodlak nodded, “But I was just about to change that.”

“Free yourself of the beast and return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory. And lead the Companions to further glory”, he affirmed solemnly.

“Did I hear that right? She’s to lead the Companions?”, Aela stepped forward.

“Yes, my lass”, Kodlak turned to her, “I know that you wished for that as well. My hope for you is that you will trust in your sister and counsel her as Skjor did me. I love you both as if you were my own blood. But now I have to go. Tsun calls me.”

“And I am drawn back to the Hunt”, Bodil squeezed Ylva’s hand and leaned closer, “Don’t think of sending your young man away a second time. He’s cute.”

“We will meet again”, both ghosts said as they disappeared.

Ylva wished that they would have stayed longer. There was so much more she wanted to say to them, so much more that she had wanted to ask.

“They are gone, sister”, Aela placed a hand on her shoulders, “I’m glad I could be here with you. And it’s an honor to be the first to welcome you as Harbinger.”

Her sister hugged her firmly. “But don’t think you can order me around now.”

Ylva felt like crying and laughing at the same time. “As if anyone could ever do that, sis. You are as stubborn as you are feral.”

“Good. I know that you plan on continuing Kodlak’s plan to rid the Companions of the beast blood. You know where I stand”, Aela looked straight into her eyes.

“I’m not asking you to cure yourself. The choice is yours to make. I only ask of you to not look down on those that choose differently”, Ylva said.

Her sister nodded and stepped back. “I will leave and let you make your choice then.”

With a look to Bishop, she added: “And don’t take too long or Farkas and Vilkas will come looking for you.”

 

When Aela was gone Bishop sat down on some stairs.

“So, will you tell me what the fuck this was all about and what you are doing in this godforsaken place?”, he asked.

“Becoming the new Harbinger, it seems”, Ylva sat down beside him, “How did you find me?”

“Come on, ladyship”, Bishop smirked, “I’m the best ranger in all of Skyrim. Tracking you down was a piece of cake.”

“But why?”, Ylva was looking at her hands gathering her courage to ask the question burning in her mind ever since he showed up, “Why would you follow me anyway?”

“I won’t lie. I was pretty pissed when you told me to fuck off”, the ranger began, “But I was worried about you. That’s why I came back. I followed you to make sure you weren’t doing something stupid like throwing your life away. And from what I heard you were about to do just that. All that talk of it’s your fault and that you don’t deserve happiness and shit.”

“Well, you all did a terrific job at getting that out of my head”, Ylva smirked to herself and then, looking into the blue flames, added, “I’d never thought I’d see my mother again.”

“I’m glad you got a chance to meet her again”, Bishop gently squeezed her hand, “I don’t know what she said to you, but you look a lot better.”

“Yes, I feel better now.” Her mother had given her a something she hadn’t known she needed. _You are our child and there is nothing you can do that will make us love you any less._ She would remember these words until the day she died. Thinking about the last words her mother had said made her chuckle.

“What?”, Bishop raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“My mom thinks you’re cute”, she explained grinning.

“Cute- what?”, the ranger looked as if he had been insulted, “Forget what I said – your mom’s crazy.”

She snorted, trying her best to contain her laughter. Her struggle earned her a smile of the ranger.

“Well, there’s one thing left to do now”, she said once she calmed down.

“And that would be?”, Bishop asked.

Ylva rose and went to the blue flame. “To get rid of _my_ inner beast.”

“Wait, your planning to cure yourself?”, the ranger stood up, “Are you sure you want to do that? It gives you a hell lot of perks if you ask me.”

“Yes”, she said, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I’ve decided to come clean. No Deadric prince shall have power over me.”

“Well, if that’s what you want”, Bishop readied his bow, “I will help you.”

Though she was sure that what she did was right, her hands were still shaking as they pulled another head from her pack. Flinging it into the blue flames she braced herself.

Her chest felt suddenly tight, almost as if she was turning. There was a ripping sensation in her gut and she bent over, grunting in pain. The beast roared as it came free. It was glowing yellow, the color of her eyes when she turned. Ylva stumbled forward, feeling momentarily weakened. The wolf growled at her, baring his teeth. Suddenly she felt a growl of her own start in her throat, but of a different nature. She felt as if her core had been lit aflame, the dragon souls within her burning brightly with power.

“YOL TOR!” Her flames burned hotter than ever before. Was that the full potential of the Dragonborn she was now feeling?

The beast snarled at her as her flames engulfed it. Feeling the strength of the dragons within her she flung herself at the wolf, her axes dancing once more. Avoiding her attacks, the wolf changed his target and lunged at Bishop instead.

“FUS ROH DA”, she thundered, hitting the beast and flinging it away. Before it could get up from the ground she was on it and dug her axes deep inside its hide.

“Go home now, old friend”, she whispered as the beast spirit began to dissipate.

“Are you all right?”, Bishop panted as he came over.

She turned her gaze inward. Yes, the beast was gone, as was the gnawing hunger for blood. Instead she now clearly felt the dragon souls burning within her. It felt as if she had been unleashed, as if the beast had always bound her down. Now power flew through her, she felt it in every part of her body. So, this was the true power of the Dragonborn, the power she had been born with.

“Ylva?”, Bishop watched her with a worried look on his face.

“I feel so light and full of power”, she laughed, “I feel as if I can take on the word now!”


	27. Harbinger

The twins’ faces lit up like a bonfire when they lay eyes on their sister. Bishop couldn’t blame them, even though he felt a pang of jealousy. When Ylva’s beast had disappeared, something had been unlocked within her. It was as if the clouds had disappeared and the sun was shining brightly. She radiated a strength that seemed not from this world. He had no doubt that if she put her mind to it, the world would fall to their knees before her. Though he hoped she would never go down that road, as much for her sake as for his own. A strange feeling spread in his gut when he realized that even if she’d choose so, he would still stay by her side.

“Ylva!”, Farkas gathered his sister up in a big hug, “Congrats on becoming the new Kodlak!”

“Farkas put me down!”, she protested, but she couldn’t contain her laughter. Her auburn hair danced around her face as she threw her head back. She was so beautiful when she laughed.

“Whatever you did, it worked”, Vilkas had come to stand next to the ranger as they both watched his twin whirling her around, ignoring her protests, “It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile in days.”

“You’re welcome”, Bishop replied. He had been so focused on her that he hadn’t noticed him approaching at all. What was happening to him?

“Sister!”, Vilkas left the ranger to himself when Farkas finally let Ylva down, “I’m honored to greet you as our new Harbinger.”

“Will you all stop with the Harbinger business already?”, the auburn-haired warrior blushed, “We came here to help fulfill Gramps last wish and we succeeded. Isn’t that more important?”

Even now she showed how humble she could be. Becoming the Harbinger, the most respected warrior of the Companions meant less to her then fulfilling her grandfather’s dying wish. Bishop could only shake his head with a smirk on his lips.

“It is”, Farkas agreed, “The old man can now go in peace.”

 

“Brothers”, Ylva’s tone became serious as she looked at the twins, “I want you to have the same choice he did. I won’t look down on you if you choose the beast, nor if you want to get rid of it.”

She put down her backpack and took two more of its nightmarish contents out. As she handed each of the twins one bag she continued: “If you want to rid yourself of the beast, go to Ysgramor’s burial chamber and throw the heads into the blue flame. Once you do, your wolf spirit will be ripped from your soul. You have to defeat the beast, only then you will be free.”

“And if we choose not to?”, Vilkas looked at the bag with a mixture of disgust and interest.

“You keep the heads, just in case you change your mind later in life as Kodlak did”, she replied, “Take your time, brothers. It’s not an easy choice to make. I made mine and so did Aela.”

Her brothers looked at each other for a long time. They had a way of talking without using any words – something only twins seemed to be able to do. When she was young she had envied them for that. After a while, Farkas nodded.

“We will stay until we made our choice”, Vilkas spoke for both of them, “I want to look at some of the carvings.”

“Good”, Ylva glanced at the statue of Ysgramor, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She hoped that she would make the original Harbinger proud with the choices she would make in her time.

As she turned away from the statue she felt the familiar tug and whisper of a Word of Power. Surprised she looked to her right, where there was an opening in the wall she hadn’t noticed before.

“Ylva, everything all right?”, Bishop seemed to have noticed the look on her face.

“There’s a Rotmulaag nearby”, she explained, “I can feel it.”

Walking closer to the opening the whispering got louder.

“There’s another passage here!”, she exclaimed surprised, “Let’s see where this leads to.”

The whispers in her head led her up a snowy slope, growing louder with each step. It was snowing even more now as when they had arrived. The air smelled of storm. When her vision began to blur as the headache became overpowering they finally made it to the Word Wall. She heard the word loud and clear as visions of wildlife shot through her mind: RAAN – Animal.  The irony of it all made her chuckle.

When she turned around she saw that all of them had followed her.

“Sorry, I was just learning a new shout”, she explained.

“And what does it do?”, Bishop asked.

“It calms animals and makes them my ally?”, Ylva tried to describe the feeling of the word as it had resonated within her, “I’d have to try it to be sure.”

“Could come in handy. Might help you calm your wild wolf”, Aela gestured towards the ranger.

“Very funny”, the wolf in question shot her an angry glance.

“Let’s get back inside. It’s not going to be any warmer anytime soon”, Vilkas suggested.

 

Once back inside the entrance chamber, Ylva looked up at the statue of Ysgramor and the weapon in his hand.

“Brothers, will you take Wuuthrad back to Jorrvaskr once you return?”, she asked, “I don’t want any raiders disturbing Ysgramor and our ancestors.”

“Shouldn’t you carry it into battle?”, Vilkas came up to her, following her gaze, “To carry it is an honor only reserved for the most respected of the Companions.”

She shook her head, “I was never one to fight with two-handed weapons, it would be wasted on me. I want it to be save at home, to inspire us all each time we lay eyes on it.”

“If that’s your wish”, her brother shrugged, “We will take it home.”

“Are you leaving already?”, Aela asked.

“The dragons are still a problem and I no wiser where they came from”, she explained, “I need to find out more about them.”

Turning around she addressed all her Shield-Siblings: “Farkas, I trust you with the training of the whelps. They have to learn how to fight as a pack. Aela and Vilkas, you can assign them some task to help them grow. I hope that some of them might soon join us in the Circle. And we need to be out there, helping the people. The songs of Jorrvaskr should not only be sung in Whiterun but all of Skyrim again!”

“And they will be”, the Companions nodded.

“I will see you all again in Jorrvaskr with stories to tell and songs to sing”, she promised, “You all stay safe until we can drink together again.”

“You too, sister”, Farkas hugged her.

Over his shoulder, she saw that Vilkas whispered something to Bishop. The ranger nodded, his amber eyes on her. Wondering since when they had started to get along she let go of her other brother.

 

Standing outside in the freezing cold Ylva looked up and saw that dusk was fast approaching.

“We won’t make it any further then Winterhold I suppose”, she sighed, “Well, at least we’ll have a bed in a warm inn instead another night on the cold floor.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to stay here and wait till morning?”, Bishop pointed out.

“Since when did you start to get along with them?”, Ylva raised an eyebrow in question, “No, I don’t want to stay. I don’t feel too comfortable with sleeping in a tomb if it can be avoided. And being watched by the Harbingers of the past doesn’t make it any better.”

Being honest, she wanted some time for her own thoughts. A lot had happened that day and she hoped that a warm bed and drink would help settle her mind.

“I certainly wouldn’t complain about a nice bottle of mead”, the ranger admitted, “If you’re paying. You owe me one after having me track you all this way.”

“If you say so”, she rolled her eyes, “Come, you two.”

She tapped her hip to signal Karnwyr to follow her, but the wolf stayed put.

“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”, Bishop looked down to his friend, “Weren’t you so eager to meet Ylva again?”

Karnwyr turned his head away and shook his fur.

“It’s probably because I’m no longer a werewolf”, Ylva got down on her knees, “Hey there my friend.”

She held out her hand to let Karnwyr sniff it. “I might no longer smell like a wolf, but I’m still the same person.”

Reluctantly the wolf sniffed her hand and let her scratch his ears.

“You are still a pack brother to me”, Ylva said, “So don’t treat me like a stranger.”

The wolf looked into her eyes for a long time, then he licked her hand.

“I knew you'd come around”, she smiled, “And now let's get going.”


	28. Persistent Mage

They reached the town of Winterhold as the light faded into the night. Her fingers were numbing despite the thick leather of her gauntlets. Leaving Allie and Balo sheltered from wind and snow they climbed the steps to the Frozen Hearth Inn. With warmth and rest so close Ylva lifted her helmet and shook the ice and snow from her hair.

“What is such a rose doing out in the cold, my dear?”

Startled she looked around to see a blond Breton approach her. He was wearing richly embroidered robes, marking him as a mage from a noble house. _Great,_ she thought to herself, _a mage._ Hopefully, he would leave her alone.

“I am Darren, let me invite you into the Frozen Hearth. We can warm ourselves by the fire”, the mage continued.

“Don't mind if we do. I could use a stiff drink, not to mention a hot bath. You'll get that ready for us, won't yah?”, Bishop replied before Ylva could even open her mouth, casually laying an arm around her shoulder, clearly marking her as his. Irritated by his behavior she was at loss for words.

“Who is this flea-bitten ranger that follows you, my dear?”, Darren seemingly ignored the provocation, focusing on her instead, “To keep such dreadful company, sweet rose, is repulsive.”

“Ah, but she likes me around, my little mage. Wanna know why?”, the ranger brought himself between her and the mage, “I can keep her warm at night. Now be the good worthless little man that you are and go fetch papa a drink.”

“I am not speaking to you, you uncivilized ruffian. I am speaking to the lady”, the Breton shot at Bishop.

“Ah but I'm speaking to you, mageling. If you don't want to be the target of my next weapon's practice, then get lost”, Bishop let his free hand wander to the hilt of his hunting knife in a seemingly casual gesture.

The scene had an odd feeling of two cocks fighting over a hen. The Breton squared his shoulder in an attempt to make the ranger feel looked down upon, which utterly failed simply because the ranger stood almost a head taller than him.

“I can't believe such disrespect”, the noble turned to her again, “If you should like to join me in the Frozen Hearth, my dear, I'll be waiting.”

With a final disgusted glance at Bishop, he added: “But leave this disgusting creature out here. I'll see you inside, lovely rose.”

“Like hell, you will”, Ylva muttered to herself. All she wanted was a quiet evening after everything that had happened. The ranger, happy that the rival had disappeared turned to her with a broad smile on his face.

“Now, let's get to that drink and hot bath”, he said.

“Only if you're done playing a cock trying to impress a hen”, Ylva remarked, “I do know how to get rid of unwanted attention on my own, you know?”

“Whatever, princess”, Bishop glowered at her.

Shaking her head, she opened the door to the tavern. Immediately she felt the warmth of the fire on her face and sighed blissfully. The Frozen Hearth was a small tavern and rather quiet. No wonder, only a few travelers found their way to the small town, even fewer since half of it had been swallowed by the Sea of Ghosts some years ago. Heading straight to the innkeeper she rented the only guest room left in the tavern and was more than happy to find out that a warm bath was still available. Leaving Bishop at a table she went in first.

Washing the grime of days spent traveling and fighting off her body she felt somewhat more like herself again. Though she couldn't deny that something had fundamentally changed after the beast hat left her. It seemed as if part of her true power had always been held back, keeping the beast under control. Now there was nothing to hold her back anymore and a smile spread over her lips as she felt the dragon souls within her.

The words of her mother came back to her as well. _You weren't born a tool._ Her parents never wanted her to sacrifice her own happiness, she understood that now. But following her heart also meant to continue fighting for the people. Feeling the power she had, how could she not help them? How could she not continue on the path destiny had set her on? There was no other that could walk it, she realized that as she felt the true power in her blood. She would need to find out where the dragons came from. Even if it meant to listen to that deranged woman in Riverwood. It was her only lead.

And then there was the ranger. Her heartbeat quickened just thinking about him. Bishop had returned to her, despite what she had said, despite that he had said he cared for no one but himself. She couldn’t help it but a smile spread across her face. Maybe there was something more than just worry behind it? When he had left she had realized just how much she needed him by her side, how much he wanted to have him there with her. She wondered if he felt the same?

“Ah, that felt good”, she let herself fall into the empty chair on their table now wrapped in her blue travel dress, “The water is still warm, by the way. Might want to wash that stink off of you.”

“Okay, I'll take my bath. But you didn't exactly smell like a rose yourself”, Bishop stood up and left her with Karnwyr. The wolf was still a little wary of her new smell. She ordered some stew and mead for herself and the ranger as well as some meat for the wolf. Swayed by food and loving attention the wolf soon curled up under her chair.

Her nose warned her of someone approaching and she recognized the smell from the noble from before. She had feared that with the loss of her beast she would lose the sensitivity of her senses, but until now she could smell and hear as good as before. Maybe the dragons within her had helped with that.

“Sweet rose, you came! Let me sit here with you and I shall order us some wine”, the mage sat down in Bishop's chair, carefully keeping his legs away from the growling Karnwyr.

“That won't be necessary”, Ylva replied coldly. While the bath had soothed her a bit she still couldn't care less for that pretty boy noble.

“You rest yourself and relax”, the Breton continued ignoring her remark, “Let the fire stir your spirit that has been dampened by the cold.”

“My spirits are only dampened by your presence”, she remarked dryly.

“Oh what charming humor you have, my dear”, he continued, “Let me entertain you with the stories of my travels.”

Rolling her eyes she gulped down her mead. This guy certainly was persistent.

“Well, I was visiting my friends at the Blue Palace in Solitude. They asked me to show them some spells I had learned at the College of Winterhold. It's for mages only you know?”

“You don't say”, she yawned and looked around the room for an excuse to get rid of the talkative mage.

“Anyway, Casavir had me arrested. Of all the nerve!”

“Who is Casavir?”, the name didn't ring a bell. She had been to Solitude several times before, visiting her father when he was stationed there for a time. Then again, she hardly knew anyone in the city except Legionaries.

“I guess I know as much about him as any other man”, the mage explained, “He said magic wasn't allowed in the city. Only there was nothing posted to warn me and no one told me not to do it. He threw me in a dirty, stinking rat-infested cell for a night, and then kicked me out of Solitude the next day. He wouldn't let me bathe first. I didn't sleep a wink that horrible night.”

“Would you know why he wouldn't allow magic in the city?”, Ylva knew that there were several mages in the city and hasn't heard of any prohibition of performing magic there.

“I have no idea. I just know that he is an unpleasant bully that I never care to see again. Please, my dear, let us speak no more of this terrible memory.”

“Why have you brought it up if you didn't want to talk about it, to begin with?”, she was growing more tired with every moment the mage continued to annoy her.

“A nice shoulder massage might take the tension from my body and drive away the mental horror of it”, he gave her a sparkling smile that would probably have most women swoon over him, but it didn't work on her.

“You wish”, she hissed. When would that mage finally take a hint?

“It's not my place to criticize, sweet rose, but are you sure you're safe with that barbarian that follows you? He seems more like a wild animal than a man to me.”

“You don't know him”, she glowered at the mage. How dare he insult the ranger. Bishop was more a man than the whiny noble sitting in front of her.

“Nor do I wish to.”

“Good thinking, mage!”, Bishop had just returned from his bath, his brown unruly hair still glistening wet. Relieved to see him a smile spread over her face.

“I thought you were outside enjoying the conditions I'm sure you feel quite at home in!”, the mage turned towards the ranger with a look of disgust on his face.

“Even a wolf enjoys a warm fire now and then”, the ranger's voice was full of threat.

“Just as I said”, the Breton turned to her again, “an animal. Why don't you come with me, lovely rose, and leave this wolf to scorch his hide next to the flames?”

“Why don't you leave us wolves alone instead, mageling?”, she replied.

“Do you really think she needs anything from you, little mage?”, Bishop towered over the mage.

“Don't tempt me, ranger”, the Breton got up, ice magic playing around his fingers, “I'll make you regret interrupting my evening.”

The ranger threw his head back in laughter. “You? You're just a boy overfilling his breeches, trying to act tough.”

“Your audacious behavior needs correction, barbarian. Let's step outside.”

The mage was brave, she'd give him that. He clearly wasn't letting the ranger intimidate him in the slightest.

Bishop smirked at him. “I'll step outside with you, but, if you use magic in any way, I'll slice off the hand that made the spell.”

“No magic, no weapons. Just man to man combat!”

Ylva wondered if the mage had any trick up his sleeve or if he was too full of himself to realize that he was no match for the battle trained ranger?

“All right”, the ranger let his knuckles crack, “Let's go then.”

The two men made their way to the door. “Aren't you just a little bit afraid of this “barbarian”, mage?”

“I'm frightened to death of you, but the lovely rose must be mine, minus her brute companion. “

The ranger stopped before him, towering over the Breton. “That's an impossible goal, mage. You have courage, but you're way out of your league. Save yourself the pain.”

“I can't”, the mage crossed his arms and stood his ground. Too late did he realize that Bishop had just waited for him to lower his guard. The ranger's fist hit him straight in the face. His nose gave way with a loud sickening crunch.

“Stay down, boy”, Bishop warned him, “Challenge me again, Darren, and I'll kill you.”

Having anticipated an unfair move Ylva was already on her way over to the two squabblers. While the mage had been annoying he hadn't deserved to get his nose broken.

“Are you all right?”, she asked.

“I've lost. Leave me, you are his”, he sniffled.

“I belong to no man. But you deserved it”, she said.

“I hope he didn't break my nose”, Darren said, carefully touching his already swollen nose.

“Better watch yourself next time”, she advised him.

“Excuse me, I think I need to go ice my nose”, the mage stood up on shaking legs. With an angry glance at Bishop, he went to the farthest table from them as possible.

“Did you have to break his nose?”, Ylva turned to Bishop.

“Well, well. Maybe there is a man in those trousers”, the ranger looked after the mage, “Oh look, I fixed his nose for him, too.”

“Was that really necessary?”, she asked as they settled back at their table.

“I gave him every chance to stop but he kept coming”, the ranger argued, “Figured I'd just have to beat it into him. If you don't want me damaging your admirers, don't bring them around me.”

“If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous”, she replied, handing him a bottle of mead.

“Of what, your little flirtations?”, he took a sip but held her gaze, “They don't mean a thing to me in the slightest, don't flatter yourself.”

“Flirtations? I wasn't doing any of that. Why are you getting so angry anyway?”, Ylva waved for another round.

“If I was jealous, it wouldn't matter to you, princess, so leave me be”, the ranger looked away.

“And here I was, just wanting to have a calm evening”, she sighed, “I'll leave you be then, I was done eating anyway.”

Not waiting for a reply, she got up and left for their shared room. Why had he been so angry and mean towards her? It was not her fault that the mage couldn't take a hint. And why had the ranger felt the need to be so possessive of her anyway? She was her own woman and didn't belong to anyone. Deciding that the ranger had lost his right for a somewhat comfy bed she took the bed for herself. Laying on the straw mattress she looked up at the ceiling. Damn that ranger! How could he think she would betray him and throw herself at other men when her heart beat only for him?


	29. Dragon Summit

The next morning Bishop found Ylva saddling the horses. After she had left him sitting alone he had been drinking the night away. He had been more than angry to see the damn noble sitting on his chair. Has it meant nothing to her that he had tracked her for days to make sure she was all right? Why did she have to flirt with the first guy that threw himself at her? Now his mood was still sour and his head felt like it would burst open any minute. No wonder the inn had so few patrons, their mead was awful.

 “Has the ranger finally decided to grace me with his presence?”, Ylva greeted him, her hazel eyes blazing with anger.

“Fuck off”, he snarled, “You weren’t the one sleeping on the floor.”

“With the amount of mead you’ve been downing last night I doubt it would have made any difference if you would have had the bed”, she shot back.

“Whatever, princess”, he replied, swinging himself into his saddle, “I do what I want.”

“I noticed”, she mounted Allie gracefully, urging the mare into motion.

“As if you’re any different”, he muttered under his breath as he let Balo follow. Brooding quietly to himself it took him a moment to notice that they weren’t on the way to Whiterun or Riverwood but instead were headed to the icy mountains of Winterhold.

“Where are we going?”, he asked.

“To Mount Anthor”, Ylva explained, “While you were busy sobering up, I have been talking to the innkeeper. He told me about a dragon that has been sighted nearby. The Jarl doesn’t do anything since he only has a hand full of guards, and the College doesn’t seem to care. I’m going to take care of it.”

“Throwing yourself into danger again, I see”, he remarked.

“You can stay if you’re too afraid”, she replied, leading Allie up a small path.

“Me, afraid? Don’t make me laugh”, he said, though the uneasiness in his chest grew. While the danger of encountering a dragon was ever present he had hoped that he would be spared to look another of the scaly beasts in the eyes for a little while longer. The anger over his hurt pride was quickly replaced by fear for Ylva’s and his own wellbeing. Hopefully, her armor proved to be as strong as she thought it was.

 

The flapping of wings as they approached the summit was proving that the rumors of a dragon were true. Ylva jumped out of the saddle, her bow already in her hand. Coming around the final bend of the path she spotted the dragon landing atop of a Word Wall. _Killing two birds with one stone,_ she thought. Careful not to alarm the beast she ducked and crept closer. When she fired her arrow, a cold wind threw her arrow of aim making the dragon jump up into the air.

“Shit”, she muttered as she drew her bow back for a second try.

This time she hit the dragon, earning her a loud screech. The dragon flew over her, spitting fire. Ducking behind a large rock she avoided the flames.

“FUS ROH DA!” Her Thu’um hit the dragon in the back, just below his wings.

The dragon staggered midair but recovered from the blow early enough to launch a counter attack.

“Damn dragon”, she cursed as she released another arrow. She needed to get the dragon down, as long as it was in the air she was at the disadvantage. There must be a better way to ground a dragon than to aim at his wings!

Avoiding another fire blast, she sprinted out of her cover, luring the dragon to an open space before the word wall. The dragon stood in the air before her.

“YOL TOR!”, she breathed, using the flames as a cover to fire more arrows at the beast.

“Ylva, watch out!”, Bishop bellowed. The creature came towards her, its claws aiming for her head. Reacting quickly, she ducked and let another arrow whistle from her bow as she turned around.

Finally, the dragon landed. Dropping her bow, she grabbed her axes and sprinted towards the scaly beast.

“SU!”

Her axes danced but she missed the dragon as it was quickly up in the air again, heading straight for the ranger.

“Bishop!”, she shouted.

The ranger barely dodged the Fire Breath coming his way. He clutched his shoulder and grunted in pain. She had no time to come to his aid, as the dragon landed again, his jaws dangerously close to the ranger. Fear gripped her heart. No, she wouldn’t let anything happen to him! She threw herself at the beast’s side digging her axes into its scaly hide over and over again, trying to get his attention.

“Ladyship”, Bishop yelled, “Ladyship, STOP! It’s dead!”

Panting heavily, she stood back to see he was right. Fire had already started engulfing the dragon, magickly burning away it’s flesh only leaving his bones and a few scales. Closing her eyes, she felt the soul now resting within her, wild hot power ready for her to use. Dropping her axes to the floor she rushed over to where the ranger was cowering.

“Are you hurt?”, she asked as she examined him, taking off the helmet to see more.

“Just a little burnt at the edges”, he replied, a smirk curving his lips that was quickly replaced by a grimace of pain, “Ouch, don’t touch that!”

Ylva drew back her hand from his shoulder. The leather had been scorched and his shoulder was a mass of burnt skin.

“We need to wash it out”, she was already fumbling with the buckles of his leather armor.

“Can’t wait to see me naked, huh?”, the ranger joked, but the cold sweat on his forehead told a different story.

“Drink this”, Ylva pushed a potion in his good hand to then concentrate on his shoulder. With some effort, she managed to get his arm out of the leather armor. His shirt had a huge hole but lucky for the ranger not much of the linen seemed to be stuck to his skin. The burn wasn’t as bad as she had feared, the armor had taken most of the blow. She cleaned the wound as best as possible before pouring her strongest healing potion over it. Seeing the skin closing over the wound relief washed over her.

“Thanks”, Bishop said.

His face was no more than a hand’s width away from hers. The stubble he usually kept short was already starting to grow into soft fuzz and the shadows under his eyes told her of many restless nights. Had he worried so much that he couldn’t even find rest in his sleep? She began to understand that the ranger cared more about her than what he had let her believe.

His honey eyes were studying her face and his lips were opening as if he wanted to tell her something. Not waiting to hear what he had to say she leaned in, brushing her lips against his for a short kiss, almost like a question. She looked in his eyes again, searching for the fire they had shared.

The flame answering hers was blinding and a smile spread across his face. Her fingers touched the soft beard as she returned to his lips. By the gods, he tasted so good. She felt his rough fingers caress her cheek, his thumb gently stroking over her scars, making her heart skip a beat. His other arm reached around her pressing her against his chest, making her straddle his lap. The scent of autumn leaves and mead that was so unique to him filled her senses as she lost herself in the kiss. Despite the cold wind blowing around them, she felt hot, the desire burning in her belly reaching even further down. Her hands continued to explore him, feeling the muscles of his chest tense under her fingertips. A low growl escaped his lips as her fingers touched the still tender skin of his shoulder. His hand grasped her wrist, moving it away from his shoulder. The soft fuzz chafed her skin, that had become sensitive from the cold, as his lips wandered lower to her neck. She sucked in her breath as his teeth playfully nibbled at her skin.

“You’re driving me crazy”, she breathed. That drew a soft chuckle against her neck, making her shiver.

“Likewise, princess”, he replied, “Though I wasn’t sure that you’d still want me after flirting with that pretty boy mage.”

“Seriously, you bring that up _now_?”, she pulled hard on his hair to make him look at her.

“When else would I bring it up?”, the ranger glared back at her.

“For the last time, I wasn’t flirting with the guy”, she defended herself, “He just came over and sat down, even though I told him to get lost. But the mageling didn’t seem to take no for an answer. I hate nobles and I’m not too fond of mages, either.”

“Didn’t you say that you know how to get rid of unwanted attention?”, he teased, “Seems like I came to your rescue.”

“Whatever”, she rolled her eyes and got up.

“What? Not in the mood anymore?”, Bishop protested.

“No, you killed it”, she answered, “I’d rather go check that Word Wall up there to see if there’s a Rotmulaag waiting for me.”

There was one waiting for her. When the whispering became too loud to bare, visions of icebergs and a feeling of freezing shot through her. IIZ – ice, biting through flesh, rendering anything unmoving as it encased it. For a moment she played with the thought to test her new Thu’um on the ranger but he didn’t deserve to be frozen after just having survived an attack by a Fire Breath.

Going down she saw that he was struggling with covering the hole in his shirt and armor. Leaving his skin exposed to the raw cold winds blowing in the mountains would mean risking frostbite.

“Need some help?”, she said.

“You don’t have a spare shirt somewhere in your bags, do you?”, he asked.

“No, I don’t. But I can bandage your shoulder and fill your whole with a little bit of fur. It won’t help much in battle, but it might keep you warm”, she suggested.

“Give it a try”, the ranger nodded, clearly aware of the dangers of hypothermia. He pulled his arm out of his leather jacket again and sat down on a rock to let her work.

Ylva went to Allie and picked up some bandages and a piece of fox fur she had in her saddlebag. Setting the fur aside she wrapped the bandages around the shoulder, careful to bind it in a way that the ranger could still move his arm around freely. Helping the ranger back into his jacket she stuffed the fur inside the whole, making sure that it covered him completely.

“We better stop at the Lodge before heading to Riverwood”, she thought out loud, “Your armor needs fixing. And maybe we can come up with a better armor for you.”

“I like my armor”, he replied defensively, “I could just fix it.”

“Bishop”, she sighed, “I won’t force you to put on an armor you don’t like. All I want is for you to have the best protection possible while still being able to fight.”

“All right”, he reluctantly agreed, “Maybe we can figure something out.”

“I’m going to check that skeleton if there still some scales and good bones left we could use”, Ylva looked at the remains of the dragon, “Though I’m going to burn what we’re not going to use. I don’t want any mages to mess with it.”

 

By nightfall, they reached the small town of Helljarchen. Ylva was happy they made it to the Nightgate Inn. Her fingers and feet felt like ice despite having stopped to make a fire now and then. Besides the fight with the dragon they had been left alone, not even the wildlife wanted to be out and about in the cold wind and snow.

Sighing blissfully as the heat of the fire thawed her fingers Ylva looked around the small tavern. Besides the innkeeper only one other guest was present. The settlement of Helljarchen was small compared to others in Skyrim. Besides two small farms, a blacksmith and an alchemist there wasn’t much to it. Only an hour or two down the road lay Windhelm, the capital of the rebels so most travelers tried to make it to there instead. But as a result, the tavern wasn’t crowded with Stormcloak soldiers, much to her appreciation. While her duty as Companion was to all of Skyrim she couldn’t help feel uneasy every time when she was in rebel territory.

“Hello Ylva, long time no see”, the innkeeper called out, “Let me see if I have a clean mug for you somewhere.”

“Good evening Hadring”, Ylva smiled warmly at the innkeeper, “Do you have a spare room or two?”

“Just one I’m afraid”, the old Nord said.

“We’ll take it”, she replied, “You got a full house then?”

“Got a good paying customer as of late”, the innkeeper nodded.

“Good for you” she rubbed her hands together to warm them up, “Could we trouble you with some hot stew and some mulled mead? I’m frozen to the bone.”

“I’ll bring it over in a minute, lass”, Harding turned around to fetch some clean bowls.

“Do you stop here often?”, Bishop asked when they sat down at a table.

“A few times. It’s one of the few places this side of Skyrim where it’s not important who my father is”, she explained in a low voice.

“Right, there was this thing”, the ranger muttered.

“Let’s not dwell on that and warm up a little”, she winked at him, “Do you want to try your luck with cards again? It’s been a while and you got some coins in your pocket…”

“We could also pick up where we left this morning”, he smirked, “I’m sure I’ll get you warm in no time.”

She remembered their heated kiss at the dragon’s summit and felt her face growing hot. For the hundredth or so time that day she questioned herself how far she would have gone if the ranger hadn’t brought up the mage.

“The fire and the stew will be more than enough for that, thank you”, she replied.

“Well, it was worth a shot”, he shrugged. He looked at her for a long time before adding: “So you intend to see that Blades woman or whatever?”

“Will you keep your voice down?”, she hissed, “I don’t want everybody and their mom knowing where we’re going.”

“All right, all right”, the ranger whispered, “I got it.”

“Yes, we’re heading to the Lodge and then see what she’s all about. I still doubt these High Elves have anything to do with the dragons, but it’s the only clue I have right now”, she explained.

“I thought you were over the ‘I’m the Dragonborn and only a tool’-business?”, he pulled up an eyebrow.

“I help and protect the people, that’s what I do best, that’s who I am”, she said.

“Please tell me that’s just some sort of mental condition”, Bishop massaged the bridge of his nose.

“Pardon, what?”, she looked at him with bewilderment.

“The way you just can’t say no to every stray that comes your way with their ‘oh please go and kill that dangerous dragon’ or ‘go and wipe out that cave full of bandits because we can’t be bothered to send the guards’ requests after which you forget everything and everyone and run off to do their bidding”, he continued.

“It’s called compassion and a sense of duty, Bishop”, she argued.

“No, darling. That kind of blind trust is called stupidity. And I do hope you’ll come to understand that before you wind up giving your life for the request of some damned Jarl”, the ranger growled.

“You do know that I’m very thorough with preparing for a job and never go anywhere without making sure I’ve got a full stock of healing potions with me and the best possible gear ready”, she raised an eyebrow, “Don’t forget I survived this long without you to guard my back.”

“Yeah, you did”, he grumbled to himself.

“Bish”, she reached over the table and touched his hand, “I like to have you around. You are a good fighter and I think we make a good and deadly team. I feel safer when you are with me.”

“Oh?”, he grinned, “I hope not too safe, princess. I’m a wolf and I could bite.”

“Try it – a dragon has thick skin”, she winked.

The ranger’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he licked his lips, leaning closer. Her skin prickled with anticipation. Would he really bite her? She had meant it as a joke but with her eyes glued to his lips, she could only wonder what it would feel like when his teeth dug into her skin.

“Here is your mulled mead and stew”, Harding’s voice pulled her out of her trance, “I’ll put it on the tab and you can pay up tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks”, Ylva couldn’t help blushing a little as she reached for the steaming mug. The ranger grinned as he did the same.

“To a fun evening”, he raised his mug to her.

“To a fun evening”, she raised her own in reply.


	30. Home, Housecarls and Dragons

They reached the Lodge with the light of the sun fading on the next day. Except for a few wolves crossing their paths, it had been an uneventful ride home.

“Home sweet home”, Ylva smiled happily.

“For someone that loves home as much as you, you sure are away a lot”, the ranger commented.

“Well, you can’t save Skyrim by staying at home. But maybe that’s why I love coming home”, she dismounted, “Home means a break from being a protector, it means peace and rest.”

“How long will you think we will stay this time?”, he asked, getting down form Balo.

“As long as it will take to restock with potions and take care of your armor”, she took off the saddle, relieving Allie from her weight, “We don’t know if Delphine will give us time to prepare when we seek her out.”

“I’m still wondering why you want to talk to her. Don’t you want to try the Greybeards again first?”, he suggested.

“These old geezers?”, she shook her head, “No, they made it pretty clear that they will not tell me anything about the dragons return. Delphine at least wants to talk, even if what she says sounds batshit crazy.”

“Call me paranoid, but there is something off with that woman”, Bishop helped her carry the saddles to the front door, “I mean, do you believe that Blade’s stuff she talked about?”

“Actually”, she said as she opened the door, “I do. The Blades were the protectors of the Septim Dynasty and had been a very powerful organization back in the day. They were destroyed in the Great War, though.”

“You know, for someone that goes around beating up people and killing bandits you do know quite a lot of history”, he remarked.

“What’s wrong with learning about history? How else will you avoid making the same mistakes as our ancestors?”, she said as she dropped the saddle on a chest close to the door.

“My Thane?”, a voice from within distracted them. The ranger almost dropped the saddle, reaching for his knife.

“Lydia, is that you?”, Ylva waved at him to let him know it was alright.

“Yes, my Thane”, a black-haired Nord looked down from the stairs.

“You scared me”, Ylva sighed.

“I was just making sure everything was in order”, the other woman said.

“Who is that?”, the ranger eyed Lydia with suspicion as she came down the stairs.

“That’s Lydia. Jarl Balgruuf assigned her as my housecarl”, Ylva explained, “And that’s Bishop, my companion as of late.”

Both eyed the other with mixed emotions on their face.

“So you’re the guy all of Whiterun is talking about?”, Lydia finally said.

“Why would anyone talk about me?”, the ranger frowned at her.

“You’ve been seen in the company of our Thane and she’s one of the most famous people of Whiterun – of course, people are talking about you”, she explained.

“Lydia!”, Ylva exclaimed, blushing a little, “Since when do the people care about who I’m with?”

“With all due respect, my Thane, people love to gossip. And at the moment you are at the center of their attention”, her housecarl shot her a meaningful glance.

“Damn those scandalmongers”, Ylva breathed, “There are dragons about and a Civil War going on. There are rumors that the rebels consider an attack on the city and all the people can talk about is me?”

“Let them talk, ladyship”, Bishop shrugged, “I don’t care.”

“You’re right, Bish”, she said, “Maybe giving them something else to talk about wouldn’t hurt though.”

She turned to her housecarl.

“Lydia, could you bring a message to the Jarl? The Companions have chosen a new Harbinger”, she explained.

“Oh? And who is that?”, Lydia asked.

“Isn’t it obvious?”, Bishop cut in, “Her ladyship, of course.”

“Congratulations, my Thane”, her housecarl bowed, “The Jarl will be thrilled to hear that. But why don’t you come to tell him yourself?”

“I’m following up a lead concerning the return of the dragons”, Ylva explained, “I don’t know how long that will take me but I will come and talk to the Jarl as soon as I can.”

“Shouldn’t I come with you then? I’m sworn to protect your life”, Lydia replied.

“Lydia, we’ve been over this”, Ylva said, “I want you to protect that which is most important to me: The people of Whiterun and my home. In a battle, you’d only slow me down.”

The black-haired woman looked down. “But I’ve been training…”

“And that’s great to hear. Still, I’d rather have you help the citizens of Whiterun if need be. The rebels and dragons can attack the city any day. With you there to help and fight I don’t have to worry as much”, Ylva put her hands on the other woman’s shoulders.

“If that’s your wish, my Thane”, Lydia nodded.

 

“So, a housecarl, huh?”, Bishop remarked when Lydia had left for Whiterun.

“After it became known that I’m the Dragonborn the Jarl made me a Thane of Whiterun. He assigned me Lydia, even though I told him I don’t need a bodyguard. She isn’t a bad fighter but doesn’t have the training a Companion goes through. And she is too hot-headed in battle, rushing into a battle without checking the situation first”, Ylva sighed, “She takes her oath to me very seriously, though. That’s why I let her watch over the Lodge.”

“Anything else I should know? Others I need to be aware of when taking a shower?”, he asked. The thought of her brothers suddenly appearing when he had her pinned to the wall was off-putting, to say the least.

“No, not really. Tilma used to come by but she’s getting too old to walk over here”, the warrior explained, “So you don’t need to worry.”

“Good”, he grinned to himself as he put Balo’s saddle away. He liked the idea of having her to himself as long as they stayed at the Lodge. While he had tried several things to make her fall for his charms they either had been interrupted or she hadn’t given in to him. _Not yet, anyway,_ he thought.

“Do you want to heat up the water for the shower while I’ll get started with cooking some dinner?”, Ylva proposed.

“If you promise me to join me in the shower later I might”, he smiled charmingly.

“You wish”, she playfully stuck out her tongue.

“As a matter of fact, I do”, his eyes wandered over her hungrily. Even in an armor that concealed most of her womanly figure and covered with the dirt of traveling he couldn’t help but want her. So much in fact that the mere thought of what was under her armor was enough to make his blood boil and his heart race.

His intense stare seemed to not go by unnoticed as her cheeks began to blush.

“You should hop under the shower right now”, she remarked dryly, despite the redness of her cheeks, “Maybe that will clear your mind of whatever dirty thoughts you’re having right now.”

“Ouch, your tongue is sharper than your axes”, he teased, “All right, I’ll take care of the shower water, Ladyship.”

The ranger made for the small cabin next to the main house with making a stop at the wood pile for some spare logs. With the fire burning again in the small fireplace he took a moment to think. It had wretched his gut when he first saw her in the tomb. Her eyes had been hollow, her face contorted into a grimace of cold stone. That had not been the fierce and passionate woman he had become to know. When he heard her say she was only a tool he had gotten angry. How can someone so smart be so stupid? But then she had seen him.

After that, the fire blazing in her eyes had only become stronger. The ranger closed his eyes to bring back the look of her when her beast had disappeared. She had glowed red despite the blue flame lighting the tomb. Fire burning through her skin and hair. Oh, how much had he wanted to hold her close, seal her lips with his own. How much had he wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t looking at a godly being but a human, hot flesh burning with passion? But fearing rejection he had stayed put, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

And then that kiss at the dragon summit. It had taken him completely by surprise. Feeling the burning desire with which she had kissed him had set him aflame. He had even forgotten about the nasty sting in his shoulder and he didn’t think it was only thanks to the healing potion. The need to feel more of her had driven him almost insane. He had been ready to take her there, his cock straining against the leader of his trousers. But of course, he just _had to_ bring up that stupid mage. Why had he done that? She had been in the palm of his hand! Sure, he had felt sore and maybe even jealous. But he ruined his chance and the window closed. Riding after that had been torture.

How could she drive him so wild with lust? No other woman had brought forth such strong feelings in him. Could he be falling for her? No, that surely was just lust driving him crazy. Maybe once he’d finally had her in his bed this madness would stop. Surely then she would lose her power over him? Yes, he just had to seduce her. Once he had tasted her he surely would sate his hunger and his thoughts might clear. He was a lone wolf, after all, he would not let emotions get in the way of his desires.

It had to be over the next days. Here at her Lodge where he could work his charms undisturbed. Without anyone interfering she was at his mercy. Smiling to himself he returned to the lodge.

 

Much to Ylva’s relieve her supplies were still enough for the next days. She had salted meat and some vegetables. Tomorrow she would go to her garden and see what she could harvest. With some luck, it would be enough so that she wouldn’t need to make a trip to the next store. Waiting for the water in the cooking pot to heat up she stripped of her armor, bringing it down to the forge. While working on an armor for the ranger she would need to make some adjustments to her own. It had worked wonderfully in battle, but there was still room for improvement.

By the time the ranger came back from the cabin, a hearty stew was bubbling in the pot and she was in deep thought, bent over a roll of paper.

“What are you doing?”, Bishop asked.

“I thought I’d get started on a draft for your new armor”, she explained, “But before I started with the design I wrote down some thoughts.”

Ylva handed him the paper and studied his face as he looked over it. He seemed to be impressed.

“Should allow quick movements, needs to be light and flexible and yet sturdy enough to withstand fire and frost blasts. Shoulders, knees and crotch area should be very flexible, allowing smooth movement, left gauntlet reinforced, right side very flexible fingers”, he nodded slightly with each point on her list and when he was done added, “How on Nirn have you taken notice of these things when I’m usually guarding your back, Ladyship?”

“A warrior should not only know where the enemy is but also where her Shield-Sibling is”, Ylva smiled, “A Companion is trained to sense their Siblings movement, adjust attacks if needed and fight together as one. Fight like a pack – that’s what Skjor used to say.”

“That’s the training you told me about earlier?”, the ranger asked, “When talking about Lydia?”

“Yes”, she nodded, “Of course we have only been fighting together for a relatively short amount of time. I’m sure I missed some stuff. If its OK for you I’d love to have a closer look at your armor.”

“Anytime princess”, he winked, “You can come as close as you want.”

“I meant tomorrow”, she frowned at him, “And I didn’t mean you had to be _in_ the armor while I look at it.”

“Shame”, Bishop sat down at the table, “Then what are you planning to do this evening?”

“Eat, shower and sleep”, she suppressed a yawn, “Haven’t gotten that much sleep lately.”

“Have I been haunting you in your sleep?”, he smirked.

“No”, she glared, “But you and Karnwyr snored loud enough to even scare off Frost Trolls.”

“Me, snoring?”, he snorted with laughter, “You sure only my snoring kept you up at night?”

“If you think I’ve been fantasizing about you I’m sorry to disappoint”, she got up and stirred the stew letting her hair hide the light blush of her cheeks. While she hadn’t fantasized about him at night the memories of his bare chest or their kisses had crossed her mind several times during their journey.

The ranger, sensing that he had hit a nerve came closer and wrapped his arms around her, sending a shiver down her spine. Why did he have to come so close? She bit her lip and kept her eyes on the bubbling stew. She still hadn’t made up her mind if she should give in to his charms. But feeling his warm breath on her neck her legs were already growing weak.

“Am I stirring something in you princess?”, his voice was a low rasp.

“Besides the stew, there is nothing here that’s being stirred”, she remarked though the slight shaking of her voice betrayed her.

“I think the stew can wait…I have something else I want to taste right now”, he breathed in her ear making the hairs on her neck stand up.

Right then Karnwyr whined and scratched at the front door, making both of them flinch.

“What’s wrong Karnwyr?”, Ylva asked, “Is there something?”

She left Bishop at the hearth and went to the window to look out. In the light of the stars, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary until a shadow passed over her garden.

“What is it, ladyship?”, the ranger asked.

“Dragon!”, Ylva was already on her way down to her forge to quickly put on her armor.

Rushing out of the lower door she frantically looked around to locate the scaled beast. Just then it came down only a few arm’s length from her.

“Shit”, she cursed as she took cover under the small pavilion, avoiding the Frost Breath aimed for her.

 _At least it’s not a fire-breather,_ she sighed. When the dragon circled back she jumped out of cover and let her fire engulf the beast while covering it with arrows.

“YOL TOR!”

Screeching with pain the dragon stood still in the air. Ylva fired at the exposed wings, slowly moving away from the Lodge and over to the small bridge over the river.

“What are you planning, ladyship?”, Bishop bellowed from the balcony, not letting the dragon out of his sight.

“Getting it away from the lodge!”, she shouted, dodging another dive of the beast, “Get your ass down here or else it won’t follow!”

“FO KRAH DIIN!” Frost covered the ground where she was standing and her feet felt cold. Damn, she needed to be more careful. She stumbled backwards and fired an arrow. For a moment she thought she missed but with pure luck, it hit the beast in the eye.

The dragon screeched and with powerful flap, it pushed itself higher in the air. Following its movement, Ylva was relieved to see that it landed on the road.

“Now you’re mine!”, she grinned and switched to her axes.

The scaly monster smelled her approach and turned its sharp teeth her way. Quickly dodging the bite aimed for her arm she managed to get on the beasts back. There, where the skin was soft at the base of the skull she deeply thrust in her axes. The dragon tried to shake her off but gripping onto one of his horns she stayed on it. With her last blow, she finally broke through his skin, ripping open a vein. Warm blood splattered all over her as the life bled from the dragon’s body. She managed to catch some of it in a vail.

As the final life left the dragon it quietly muttered something in dragon tongue. As she heard the words in her mind, translated by the dragons within her, a cold shiver ran down her spine.

“Alduin sends his regards.”

Despite the warmth of the dragon soul as it was pulled into her body she felt cold.


	31. Smithing and other hot Things

Bishop found Ylva deep in thought looking into the fire when he came out of his room the next morning. After the fight with the dragon, there was no thought of trying to seduce her. A chill shook him as he remembered what Ylva had told him. Was the Word-Eater already targeting her? How much time did they have left until the final fight? Looking at the woman before him his heart clenched. Was she ready for it? Have years of training as a warrior been enough to prepare her?

“How long will you be standing there?”, she turned to look at him. The shadows under her eyes had gotten darker.

“You didn’t get any sleep tonight again, huh?”, he came closer and gently began to massage her shoulders.

“Not really”, she sighed, leaning into his touch.

“How about I’ll make breakfast, maybe some green tea will lift your spirits. I think I saw some elves ear in the kitchen yesterday”, he suggested.

“That would be wonderful”, she smiled, “Thank you.”

“I’ll call you when I’m done”, he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her head. Her hair still smelled of lavender and blue mountain flowers from her shower the night before. When she had gotten down from the dragon she had been covered in blood. Looking over her head he saw that she had a leather journal on her knees, the open pages displaying a sketch.

“What’s that?”, he asked.

“The design of your new armor”, she yawned, “Since I couldn’t sleep I thought I’ll put the time to good use.”

“Seems you got pretty far already. Maybe you can show me when the food’s done?”, he proposed.

“Sure”, she nodded, “I still need to make some improvements, but I didn’t want to sneak in and steal your armor for examining as long as you were sleeping.”

“I hope you didn’t mean to steal it and I already said to you yesterday that I’m okay with you having a look”, he said.

“Still”, she pouted, “It wouldn’t have been right.”

He softly chuckled and squeezed her shoulder. “Then go right ahead.”

 

When he had gone up the stairs she got up from her chair and stretched. How long had she been sitting there? She couldn’t really tell. This part of the lodge was built into the surrounding terrain and had no windows. Yawing again she looked down to her journal. The concept she had worked out combined different styles of armor that she hoped would work well for the ranger. Closing the journal, she went into the room that the ranger once again has made his home. Karnwyr lay on the carpet and only lifted his head slightly to great her. Smiling she bowed down to gently scratch his head. After all the travel they had done in the last days he sure deserved some rest.

The armor lay scattered on the floor, recklessly tossed away after the ranger had returned from his shower. She picked up the jacket first, letting her fingers admiringly glide over the finely worked seams. The ranger sure knew what he was doing there. Seeing his fine needlework up close, she decided it would be best to leave the sewing to him.

 Her mind wandered back to the dragon fight the night before and a chill ran down her spine. Alduin has found her, which was to be expected. He probably knew the prophecy better than her. She remembered what he had said to her at Kynesgrove: _So, my false Dragonborn? I do not recognize you as dragon._ She was no dragon and she could be killed, she knew that, and so did he.

Was he now sending his underlings to hunt her down or was he just testing her strength? Whatever he was planning, she needed to act on her own and she needed to act quickly. Looking down at the armor in her hands she sighed. If the dragons were hunting her the ranger was in more danger then he might think. Not for the first time the thought to send him away once more crossed her mind. No, she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Besides, he had made it pretty clear that he would not leave her side again. Making him an armor to protect him was the only thing she could do. And that armor had to be the best she could make – after all it was protecting her most precious treasure.

 

She examined his armor a little while longer, making notes and taking measurements until she heard him calling her name. Her belly grumbled as she noticed the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Leaving the armor behind she went up to find Bishop decking the table.

“Whatever you made, it smells delicious”, Ylva complimented.

“It’s porridge with snowberries”, the ranger replied.

“Porridge? Yummy”, she slit on her chair, “After all that troll jerky, bread, and stew that sounds like something that the Gourmet himself created.”

“The Gourmet can’t hold a candle to me”, the ranger stated confidently, handing her a bowl of delicious sweetness.

“Such high spirits so soon after getting up?”, she teased, “You sure are well rested.”

“Well, at least one of us might get some sleep”, he winked but then his face got serious, “But you should try to find some rest, ladyship. Even draugr look more alive than you right now.”

“Always the charmer”, she replied as she dug her spoon into her porridge.

“Has what the dragon has said kept you up at night?”, the ranger’s amber eyes studied her insistently.

“It was only a matter of time before Alduin would find me”, she sighed, “But I admit that it scared me. I mean, he already knows where I am and I still have no clue how to stop him.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way”, he reached over and gently squeezed her hand.

“Thanks, Bish”, she smiled, “I hope we will eventually. For now, let’s make sure we both live to see that day.”

“You mean the new armor?”, the ranger asked.

“Yes”, nodding she handed him the journal, “We should have everything necessary to make it and thanks to the dragon from yesterday we have more than enough scales and bones to use.”

“What are those?”, Bishop pointed at the harness.

“Something the Bosmer do. Allows flexibility for movement while giving the maximum amount of protection”, she explained.

“Looks complicated, are you sure you can pull that off?”

“Yes, it won’t be easy, but I know the technique”, she ensured him. She had fought against a group of Bosmer bandits once and brought back an armor to study and take apart. That one had been made with moonstone and leather, hers would be made with dragon scales and ebony – it would be a masterpiece of armor.

“Do you think you can work the leather parts?”, she asked him, “I want to use troll leather for the main armor and some bear leather for boots and gauntlets.”

“Isn’t troll leather too hard to work on?”

“Not the one I have. It’s prepared with sleeping tree sap”, Ylva smiled.

“You use skooma on leather?”, Bishop looked surprised, “I thought you hated the stuff.”

“Not skooma, sleeping tree sap”, she corrected him, “There was an Orc called Ulag learning the smithing trade from Eorlund. He was smart and creative and taught me a thing or two about working with leather. But he was an addict. He used the sap on leather, making it both more flexible and more durable, but he also used it on himself. When Eorlund found out he threw him out of the town.”

She sat back and looked out of the window.

“I found him a few months later, or what was left of him to be precise”, she continued, “He had been trying to get more sap but the Giants at the Sleeping Tree Camp don’t take kindly to addicts. I use his technique to honor him. And taking the sap for my smithing leaves less for those that turn it into skooma.”

“All right”, he scratched his head, “I see what I can do with that skooma leather. But first, let’s eat up.”

 

After finishing breakfast, the two of them went out to the dragon skeleton and hauled back any scales and bones fit for forging. Ylva also brought some bones she thought she could turn into a bow. The rest of the skeleton she set aflame, not wanting any poachers to take advantage. She sent Bishop to gather some water from the river so that the scales and bones could soak in warm water to make them flexible enough to work with.

 

Coming back inside the ranger nearly dropped the bucket. Ylva had changed into her black shirt and trousers and was working the bellow to get the forge going again. To help the coals she breathed fire, her Thu’um sent sparks flying in the air. She stood with the back to him, the light of the flames dancing over her body, giving her a wild and feral look. The sweat, running down her arms and back, glistered red in the light of the fire. Bishop swallowed hard and his mouth felt dry. Every part of his body felt as if struck by a lightning spell as desire swept over him. She was temptation made flesh. Whatever thoughts he had before, they were swept aside with only one remaining: He had to have her right _now_.

He put the bucket down and approached her from behind. Wrapping his arms around her waist he pulled her close in a swift motion. Gently he started a trail of kisses on her exposed shoulder, each salty kiss leading him closer to her neck.

“Bishop!”, she breathed surprised, “I could have burnt you!”

“I’m already burning”, he nibbled on her ear, “Burning for you.”

“I’m trying to work here”, she protested even though she lost her grip on the lever working the bellow.

“As am I”, his voice was a low rasp, “Come on ladyship, you know you want this.”

He could feel that she was still unsure, desire and reason fighting inside her. Sniffing a chance, he made her turn around and kissed her. She made an attempt at pushing him away but he caught her hand in his own, intertwining their fingers.  The sweet taste of snowberries still lingered on her lips. His other hand nestled itself on her back, pressing her against him. He could feel her body against his own and savored the feeling of her boobs brushing against his chest. To Oblivion, this woman was driving him nuts.

“Bishop”, his name was a whisper on her lips when he had to pull away to gasp for air. Her hazel eyes had become so dark they almost seemed brown. Lust and hunger shone back at him.

“Do you feel it?”, he breathed, “Do you see it? This bloody desire that burns me inside out is driving me crazy!”

Not giving her a chance to object he sealed her lips with another kiss. No, he wasn’t going to give her time to think. She was moaning against his lips, her free hand gently exploring his neck. Hungrily drinking her moan, he deepened the kiss. Letting go of her hand he let his own glide over her back, feeling her shiver beneath his touch. He couldn’t get enough of her. How could someone be so intoxicating? Again the need for air let him pull back.

“I want you in my bed right now”, he rasped in her ear, “There will be no regrets and no meaningless words. Just you and me, right here, where no one can come across to disturb us.”

“This is not the time”, she shook her head, obviously trying to clear it, “We can’t just let our instincts get the better of us.”

“I can’t keep it under control anymore! I want you”, he pressed her even closer to him, making her feel how badly he wanted her.

 

Ylva’s eyes widened with surprise. She could feel the hardness pressing against her belly. Was that his…? Her heart raced in her chest. Was she really ready for that?

“Bish, I don’t…”, she started again but he interrupted her.

“Oh! To Oblivion with you woman! You make me go crazy! I want you now!”, he growled.

He kissed her again. She felt hot and a strange tingling sensation started in her lower body. By the gods, she wanted him, every fiber in her body screamed with desire. But she was scared. What would happen if she’d give him what both of them wanted?

“Bish, I can’t. If we…”, she whispered when he let her go.

“Afraid I would just disappear after I’ve conquered you, princess?”, he asked, hurt swinging in his voice, “I thought that following you all that way made it pretty clear.”

He took her chin between his thumb and index finger, fixing his eyes on hers.

“I won’t leave your side, sweetness. Of that, you have my word. So, what will it be, yes or no?”

Her heart skipped a beat and for a moment she hesitated. Should she really do that now, give in to her desires when so much was at stake for Skyrim, when she should be out there fighting dragons? _Fuck it, Skyrim will have me again tomorrow. Today will be mine._

Instead of answering with words she let her actions speak for themselves. Cupping his clean shaved cheeks, she leaned in and kissed him, letting her burning desire answer his own. His hands found their way under her shirt and gently caressed her back, leaving burning marks on her skin wherever they touched. Her own moved down from his cheeks and explored the broadness of his shoulders.hERH

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him with her as she walked away from the forge, continuing to kiss him. Stumbling towards the bedroom their hands and lips were all over each other. They became more frantic with each step they took. She pulled his shirt over his head, wanting to explore more of him. His skin felt hot to the touch when her fingertips gently brushed over his chest. A smirk tugged on his lips as he let her explore his body. Feeling adventurous she grabbed the hem of his breeches making him follow her towards the stairs leading up to her bedroom.

Quickly catching on he lifted her up, his strong hands gently squeezing her butt as he did so. She wrapped her legs around his back, letting him carry her up to her bedroom while she kissed the side of his neck. A low groan escaped his lips as she did. When they reached the head of the stairs he turned and dropped her on the bed.

“Now I really want to see what you hide under your clothes”, his voice was a low rumble as his fingers expertly began to peel her out of her leather vest and shirt. Ylva held her breath when he pulled her shirt off. The ranger then stared at her for a moment. Seeing his eyes wander over her scars on her belly and arms she felt embarrassed. Her scars told of battles, of her young and foolish self, something she always kept hidden from view.

“I always wondered if your tattoo covered all of your chest”, he grinned as he traced the blue pattern.

“Now you know”, she grinned back at him and relaxed. His fingers moved down her sides and he pulled down her breeches in one swift motion. Hungry eyes swept over her body.

“You are beautiful”, he whispered and hungrily licked his lips.

“It’s not fair if only I am naked”, Ylva complained.

“Fair is fair”, Bishop pulled down his own breeches and stood before her in all his glory. Freed from the confinements of fabric his manhood sprang free. Ylva swallowed hard. How should something so big fit into her? The tingling in her lower belly got even stronger. Her eyes looked for his. He was watching her with hunger mixed with curiosity. Not being able to stop herself she took it in her hand and gasped.

“It’s hard as Skyforge steel”, she exclaimed. Her mouth felt dry with desire.

“Then I’m sure you won’t have trouble handling it”, he winked at her.

Softly she began moving her hand, slow strokes up and down his full length. Bishop sharply sucked in his breath. For a moment he endured her curious exploration of his body. But then, suddenly snapping, he pushed her back on the mattress and climbed in after her.

“You torturess”, he groaned, “Don’t think I’ll let you get off so easily.”

His rough hands massaged her mounds, playfully squeezing her nipples, making her moan.

“Yeah, let me hear that sweet voice of yours”, his low rumble was next to her ear again, “I’ll make you sing all night.”

One hand trailed further down. When they found the sensitive part, she gasped. With a slight shock, she noticed just how wet she had become down there.

 “You naughty princess”, he whispered in her ear, “How come you are so wet?”

“Shut up”, she breathed. He softly chuckled into her hair. Her body felt hot and tingly all over. Was that what it was supposed to feel like? She wasn’t sure but she gave herself to the sensation. When he suddenly let two fingers glide into her she buckled, pushing herself against his hand.

“Someone’s enjoying herself”, he grinned.

To wipe the smug grin off his face she pulled him into a fiery kiss. The hunger she felt made her doubt that the beast inside her was really gone. Her nails dug into the muscles of his neck. She wanted more of him, wanted _all_ of him. Growling Bishop pulled free from the kiss.

“Wild beast”, he groaned, “I’ll tame you yet.”

He brought his knee between her legs, making her open them for him. Ylva held her breath as he brought himself in position. She wanted this, had dreamed about it again and again, but now that the moment had come she felt a little scared.

When he thrust in a sharp pain shot through her, making her wince and whimper. The ranger’s eyes popped open in surprise.

“You are a virgin?”, he asked her in disbelief.

“Was”, she whispered.

“Does it hurt much?”, he asked, staying completely still.

“It’s all right, I’ve felt worse pain”, she smirked, “You can move, it’s ok.”

“I’ll try not to break you…badly”, the ranger promised. Slowly he started to move. It stung at first but after a while, the pain went away. Only a throbbing that was oddly pleasing remained.

She wrapped her arms around him, pressing him close as he thrust in and out. Her nipples rubbed against his chest with each movement. Instincts took over, her hips rising to welcome him as they found a rhythm to their dance. She felt his hitched breath on her neck, sending electric bolts down her body.

The ranger began to move faster, groaning each time he plunged himself into her. Her own breathing had become swallow as if she had been running for miles. She felt as if there was a knot in the middle of her stomach and felt herself tense around him. And then suddenly she felt an explosion. Shaking badly as the waves of extasy took her she called his name, again and again.

“Ylva”, he groaned as he too tensed up. Quickly he pulled out, releasing on her belly.


	32. Visiting Friends and Gifts

“You are full of surprises”, Bishop probed himself on an elbow to look at her.

“Why?”, Ylva turned towards him, her hazel eyes searching his face.

“All the men throwing themselves at you and yet you still were a virgin”, he shook his head in disbelief, not knowing whether he should feel happy for himself or sad for her.

“The first boy I ever kissed got his nose broken by my brothers”, she frowned at the memory, “After that everybody stayed away from me.”

“Come on, everywhere we go men are falling at your feet. That’s hardly staying away from you”, he doubted that she had not noticed that wherever she went all the male attention was on her.

“You aren't still sour because of that mage, are you? Besides, I have my eyes trained on a better target", she playfully bobbed his nose.

Recognizing his own words, a smile spread on his face. He couldn't believe how lucky he was for her to choose him. Bending down he touched her lips for a short gentle kiss. The soft _mhm_ she made when their lips touched made him instantly want her again, but he controlled the urge. His free hand started to trace the tattoo on her shoulders and chest. The blue ink seemed almost black in the light of the wall cones. It covered her upper arms and her shoulder and reached all the way down to her nipples. He was fascinated by the detail of the artwork, little dots and precise strokes forming an intricate pattern on her skin.

"Whoever did this sure knew what he was doing. Though that guy was an incredibly lucky bastard to be allowed to see your beautiful boobs", he gently took one of her mounds in his hand, both being the perfect fit for the other.

"It was a woman and a bloody sadist at that. She did that in one go, telling me that even if I would faint she would keep going"; she grimaced, "It took hours - and I didn't faint."

"Why didn't you take a healing potion?", the ranger asked.

"You don't know much about tattoos, do you?", she smirked, "Healing potions or even potions of regeneration will erase the tattoo if it's not settled yet. You have to let it heal naturally and if you get hurt later it can still disappear."

"And what about Kynesgrove? Your tattoo completely regenerated."

"Enchanted ink. Cost a small fortune to get but it paid off", she gently caressed the hand and arm resting on her.

The ranger let his eyes wander over her beautiful body. She had some scars, probably from a time when she hadn't been as good a fighter as she was now. Her muscular belly lifted itself with every breath she took. The sticky mess he made there was slowly drying.

"I hope I haven't hurt you badly", his gaze returned to her hazel orbs.

"I'm all right, don't worry. But a shower wouldn't hurt", she looked down at herself, "And I'll have to wash the sheets."

„Or we could make them even dirtier”, he grinned mischievously as his fingers caressed the valley between her boobs, “If I can track for miles without rest I can certainly go all day, princess.”

“Tempting offer, but I’d rather get back to that forge”, she winked, “Maybe you can prove me later that you can also go all night?”

“First work, then pleasure, huh?”, he drew back his hand, “All right, but tonight you’ll be mine again.”

“Can’t get enough of me, can you? I guess I wasn’t that bad, even if it was my first time”, she grinned and slit out of bed.

“Not that bad?”, he chuckled, “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I’ll go shower first, you can stay here if you want”, she said.

Even now, watching her pick up her clothes, he couldn’t help but want her again. He had been with women before, never had it been a problem for him to find someone to warm his bed. But the fire he had shared with her was something he had never felt. Feeling her under him, her soft moaning in his ears and her nails digging into his back had made him wild with desire. The feeling of her tight hold on him as the waves of orgasm had rippled through her body had almost been too much for him. It had taken everything he had to last as long as he did.

Still laying on the bed he saw the small red blotch of blood. A virgin – he had expected a lot of things, but not that. But that explained why she hadn’t fallen for his charms so easily. In a way, she was his first, too. Never had he lain with a woman that hadn’t had sex before. It made him feel an incredible rush, to know that he was the first. And by the gods, he wanted to make sure he would be the only one.

 

Once Ylva had showered she went back to the forge. Lucky for her the fire hadn’t died down yet. Working the bellow to bring it up to working heat her mind wandered back. So that was it she had missed all those years? She had always thought that her brothers had exaggerated when they told her it was even better than the rush of battle. Now she knew that they had been right – there was nothing like it. And while she really had been tempted to give herself to him for the rest of the day she knew that there were more important things to do than enjoying herself.

When the forge heated up enough for her liking she turned to the piles of bones and picked out those she deemed fitting for the armor she had in mind. Picking up the bucket of water she prepared the scales and bones as she did for her own armor. When the ranger came back from his shower she was already looking at the leather, marking down the measurements she had taken from his leather armor.

“So that’s the skooma leather?”, Bishop crouched down and rubbed the leather between thumb and index finger.

“Don’t call it that”, she frowned at him.

“It’s really soft – you sure that this is troll leather?”, he ignored her remark and continued to examine the material.

“I killed that troll myself – yes I’m sure”, she continued with her markings, “Will you be able to work it?”

“Yes”, the ranger nodded, “Give me a sharp needle and I think I’m good.”

 

The ranger helped her cutting the leather and after handing him a needle and some greased leather string he went out to use the light of day. Checking the scales and bones she decided that they would still need some time. She took her harvesting knife and a basket and went out to her garden.

The nirnroots she had growing there were ready for harvest, as were some of the other alchemy ingredients. Going to her vegetable garden she was glad to see some of the tomatoes being ripe as well as a gourd – dinner would be taken care of. Humming to herself she continued to collect her ingredients and went back inside the lodge. At her alchemy table, she had some more stashed and she had taken the time during travel to pick stuff along the way. Taking some blue mountain flowers, wheat and blisterwort she began working on refilling her empty vials.

 

When the last of her vials had been refilled she went back to check on the scales. The door opened and Bishop returned as well, handing her his finished work.

“Nice work on those seams”, Ylva nodded appreciatively.

“Thanks. Did you continue with the rest?”, he asked.

“No, I was just checking if the scales and bones were finally soft enough for cutting and forging”, she explained as she went to the bucket, “I think they're ready now. Wanna watch while I work?”

“Sure, got nothing better to do anyway”, the ranger shrugged.

 

It was long and tedious work. Ylva had to work carefully, using all her skills to create the difficult design. As she worked, the ranger lent a helping hand when needed but also completed some other sewing tasks. Using bear leather the base for the gauntlets soon took shape and with the remains of the troll leather he made himself a hood to protect from both the weather and fire or ice attacks.

The sun had faded into darkness when the work was finally done. Bishops eyes gleamed with delight when he slit into his new armor.

“It’s not as heavy as I thought it would be”, the ranger tried to move around, “And it’s as flexible as my old armor. But I probably need to get used to those pauldrons.”

“They shouldn’t restrict you in any way, but when you need to dodge or if a dragon attacks you with his claws you should be saver”, she explained, “Try if you can draw back this bow.”

She handed him one of the bows she had worked on whenever the armor needed to cool down.

“You want me to use that?”, Bishop carefully took the bow from her hands.

“Yes, I made this for you, I created another one for myself”, nodded.

“Ladyship, I don’t know if I can accept all this. This is worth a fortune!”

“Bish, I made all of this for you, of course, you can accept them. You need proper protection when fighting with me, we can’t risk death every time we take on a dragon”, she gently touched his face, “I need you with me, but I can’t let you be harmed, ok?”

“If you wish, princess”, a smile spread on his face as he leaned closer and kissed her.

 

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Irritated both of them looked at each other.

“Who’s there?”, Ylva yelled as she came closer to the door, stopping to pick up her ax. Rarely anybody stopped by the lodge and if so that usually meant trouble.

“It’s me, Delphine”, the Breton’s voice sounded loud and clear from the other side of the door.

Throwing a worried glance at Bishop Ylva opened the door. The blond woman was alone, her typical frown deepening as she saw the ranger.

“I’d figured you be here”, Delphine remarked, “When folk came in saying they saw a burning dragon skeleton on the road I knew you’d be home.”

“What are you doing here?”, Ylva asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “I thought I should come to see you at the inn?”

“I was tired of waiting on you”, the Breton threw her a meaningful glance, “I’ve figured out how we’re going to get you into the Thalmor Embassy.”

“Well, you said you needed time to prepare”, Ylva reluctantly made way for the Breton to enter her home.

“Not that long. I've been doing this a long time, remember? While the Thalmor's been looking for me, I've been watching them.”

“So what’s your plan? How do we infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy?”

“Only you – I can’t smuggle you both in there”, Delphine said.

“I go wherever she goes”, Bishop crossed his arms in front of his chest, eying the Breton with mistrust.

“Then you need to find your own way in. It’s hard enough to smuggle one person inside the embassy, two would draw too much attention”, the Blade explained, pacing around the room, “The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor. I can get you into one of those parties. Once you're inside the Embassy, you get away and find Elenwen's secret files. I have a contact inside the Embassy. He's not up for this kind of high-risk mission, but he can help you. His name's Malborn. Wood Elf, plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I'll get word for him to meet you in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever -- you know it? While you're doing that, I'll work on getting you an invitation to Elenwen's little party. Meet me at the Solitude stables after you've arranged things with Malborn. Any questions?”

“Who’s this contact of yours? You’re sure I can trust him?”, Ylva wasn’t happy at all with the plan at hand. It sounded too easy and her guts told her it would be as walking straight into a trap.

“Don't worry about Malborn”, Delphine looked at her, “He's not a dangerous character like you, but he hates the Thalmor at least as much as I do. He's a wood elf - the Thalmor wiped out his family back in Valenwood during one of their purges that we never hear about. Luckily they don't know who he really is, or he wouldn't be serving drinks at the Ambassador's parties.”

“And how do you expect me to get into this party?”, Ylva highly doubted that she could fit in. She was a warrior, not a noble.

“Let me handle that. You'll have a real invitation, don't worry. As long as you can act the part of a Thalmor toady, you'll get past the guards. I mean, as the daughter of an Imperial Officer you can handle something like this, can’t you?”, the ice blue eyes were fixed on her, waiting for a reaction.

“You did your research”, Ylva wasn’t surprised that the other woman realized who her father was, nor that she had been digging around in her past, even if it made her uncomfortable, “All right. Once I’m inside the Embassy, then what?”

“That's when the fun starts. You'll have to slip away from the party without raising the alarm. Then you'll need to find Elenwen's office and search her files. Malborn should be able to point you in the right direction”, the other woman explained.

“So when is this party taking place?”, Ylva said after thinking for a moment.

“It will be in seven days’ time as a side event of the Grand Crystal Ball also taking place around that time. If you can, try to get in on that, too. It would improve your cover”, Delphine suggested.

“And how should I manage that?”, Ylva stared at her in disbelief.

“You’re the Dragonborn, I’m sure you can think of something”, the other woman shrugged, “Anyways, I need to leave for Solitude. I will meet you at the stables after you arranged things with Malborn. Be careful.”

Ylva watched her leave with a puzzled look on her face. How did this woman expect her to blend into a party at a Thalmor Embassy? She was a warrior not some damn noble, walking around chatting and gossiping. Her father never took her to official meetings or taught her how to handle those, since she had been destined for the path of a Companion from the day she was born. And the training of Companions did _not_ include official parties.  And then this thing with a ball? The only dancing she ever did was with her axes, how should she manage to blend in without making a fool out of herself, if she even could get inside?

“I don’t like this one bit”, the ranger remarked.

“I don’t either, Bish”, Ylva turned towards him, “I mean, there is too much stuff left in the dark. And I don’t like being thrown into a situation I can’t prepare for. Most of all I don’t want to go into there without you to have my back.”

“Well, we can think of something while we travel there”, he suggested, “A week is plenty of time to get there. And maybe we can get some more information once were in Solitude.”

“From your lips to the gods’ ears”, she sighed, “I guess it’s off to Solitude then.”


	33. Solitude

Solitude. The light of early day was shining down on the huge stone walls guarding Skyrim’s capital. A three days ride had taken them straight to its gates. Ylva tried to remember when she had been to the city the last time. The city’s fate was bound to the Empire and nowhere in Skyrim was the Imperial Legions presence stronger than here. Maybe that was why she was avoiding coming here, the memory of her father haunting her whenever she came in contact with anything Imperial.

“You OK, ladyship?”, Bishop’s gaze was full of worry.

“Yeah, just some sad memories”, she sighed, “I remembered the times I came here to visit my father.”

“Well, we got 4 more days until you have to be at the Embassy. We could go find ourselves a nice bandit camp to wipe out or some cave to clear if you need to take your mind off things”, the ranger suggested.

“There are people I need to talk to in the city, people that I haven’t seen in years. And we might as well find out how to get into this bloody ball”, she shrugged, “So there is no use in dawdling.”

She pushed open the gate and entered the city. The streets were already busy with townsfolk and from the distance, she could hear the noises of the marketplace.

“So, where off to first?”, he followed in behind her.

“Castle Dour”, she said, her feet already moving towards the headquarters of the Imperial Legion.

“Why go there? I thought the Companions are sworn to be neutral?”, he asked.

“I’m not joining, I just want to talk”, she explained.

The two soldiers at the entrance only looked at her for a moment before letting her enter the quarters. As they came closer she heard two people arguing. A smile spread on her face. Some things seemed to never change.

“I’m telling you, Ulfric is planning an attack on Whiterun!”, the woman leaned forward on the table.

“He’d be insane to try. he doesn’t have the men”, the Imperial general replied. Ylva didn’t recognize his voice. When she walked in both of them went silent and looked at her. The woman’s eyes widened when she recognized her.

“Ylva!”

“Hello Auntie Rikke”, she greeted the Legate grinning.

“By the gods, I haven’t seen you in ages, lass!”, Rikke came over and hugged her, “Why haven’t you sent a courier to let me know you were coming?”

“A courier wouldn’t have arrived in time, so I thought why bother?”, she explained.

“Still, lass, good to see you”, her aunt smiled.

“Legate, who is this and why did the guards not stop her?”, the silver-haired Imperial eyed her with mistrust.

“General Tullius, this is Ylva, daughter to Captain Haldor Shield-Breaker. The guards probably knew her”, she explained.

“My pleasure to meet you, sir”, Ylva bowed her head in acknowledgment of his rank.

“Captain Haldor, I think I’ve heard of him. So have you come to follow in his footsteps?”, Tullius crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I’m afraid that is not possible. My loyalty is bound to all of Skyrim”, she explained, “I actually just wanted to see the Legate.”

“She is a Companion, General, and has to stay neutral in this conflict”, her aunt backed her up.

“Legate, I don’t appreciate official meetings being disturbed by civilians and even less so when talking about sensible information. We will continue this later”, Tullius shot her aunt an angry glance, “You are dismissed.”

“I hope I didn’t get you into trouble auntie”, Ylva said to her as they went outside.

“Tullius is a bit on edge, we all are”, Rikke sighed, “But don’t worry. He’ll calm down eventually. By the way, who’s that?”

“Auntie, meet Bishop”, she introduced the two, “And this lovely furball is Karnwyr.”

“I didn’t know Ylva still had some living family in Skyrim”, the ranger remarked as he shook the Legate’s hand.

“Is he always that charming?”, Rikke shot her a glance before returning her attention to the ranger, “I’m not real family. Her father and I served together and became close friends. I’ve known Ylva since she was a little girl.”

“I see”, the ranger nodded, “Well, Ylva doesn’t define family as blood-related. That much I know.”

“That’s certainly true”, Rikke turned towards her with a loving smile, “So, what made you come all the way here my lass?”

“Well, you are aware of the dragon problem, right?”, Ylva began.

“Yeah well, the dragons certainly haven’t made our job here any easier”, the Legate sighed, “But what does that have to do with you?”

“Let’s just say a lot of things happened since the last time I had time to write you”, the warrior led them to a quieter spot in the castle courtyard.

“Oh?”, Rikke raised an eyebrow.

“Why don’t you just tell her, ladyship? It’s not like it’s a big secret”, Bishop butted in.

“Bish!”, Ylva tried to shush him.

“The dragons are pretty much her business, she’s the Dragonborn”, he continued, “And also the Harbinger. So getting rid of these scaly bastards is kind of a priority for her.”

“Thanks for pointing that out”, she said through gritted teeth. Why did he always have to be so upfront with everything?

“ _You_ are the Dragonborn? Our little tomboy? You must be joking”, Rikke looked at them both in disbelief.

“Trust me, auntie, it was a big surprise to me, too”, she sighed, “But now I need to find out how I can put an end to Alduin. And that’s what brought me here.”

“This is a little much to take in, but I’ll help with anything I can”, the older woman gently squeezed her hand, “What do you need, lassie?”

“Some info. The Thalmor seem to hold some information on the dragons, I need to go find out what they know. Do you have any suggestions?”, Ylva whispered, not wanting anybody to overhear her.

“The Thalmor? I highly doubt that they have any information. But they are a secretive bunch, so who knows?”, Rikke scratched her head, “I can mark the location of their Embassy on your map if that helps you in any way. And if I’m rightly informed Elenwen brought some new Thalmor wizards to her mansion. You need to be really careful if you want to check it out. Other than that I have nothing I can give you.”

“Mhm”, Ylva bit her lip, “Then maybe something else. You know something of the Grand Crystal Ball? From what I heard a lot of important people will be there.”

“Wait, you’re not intending to get in on that are you?”, her aunt snorted, “You, dancing among nobles? That’s something I have to see.”

“What’s so funny about that idea? I’m the Harbinger now, I need to deal with situations like this”, Ylva crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“No offense, lassie, but while you may have an ear for rhythm and can sing, the idea of you a ball gown dancing is just hilarious”, the other woman snickered, “You are a warrior, not a dancer, just like your mother. I’ve seen her wear a gown only once when she married your father and she hated every minute of it.”

“Thank you for your trust in my abilities”, she replied dryly, “Anyhow, do you think you can help me get in?”

“I can’t. Only a few officials of the Legion will be present and we don’t have any invitations that we can spare. You’re on your own”, the Legate became serious again, “Maybe you can convince one of the guests to bring you? Several arrived early and roam the city. But you only have two days for that. The ball will take place in three days and if you’re lucky enough to get an invitation you’ll need time to prepare.”

“Great”, Ylva sighed.

“I really would like to be of more help, lass, but I have to get back, or Tullius will grow impatient”, her aunt apologized.

“It’s fine, auntie. I’ll be in the city for a few more days. If you need me, come find me at the Winking Skeever”, she smiled at the older woman.

“Well, that was a waste of time”, the ranger commented as the Legate left them.

“No, it wasn’t”, she nudged him with the elbow, “We at least got the location of the Embassy now. Let’s get to the inn and rent out a room. After that, we can go check that Embassy out.”

 

The Embassy lay far up in the Haafingar mountains, at the end of a small and steep path. The mansion was surrounded by a stone wall topped with a metal fence. Several guards stood outside and observed the surrounding area. The trio had left the horses tied to a tree some way downhill and were now hiding in the thick undergrowth.

“Whatever these Thalmor bastards are doing there, they definitely don’t want anybody to find out”, Bishop whispered.

Ylva nodded. Her eyes were fixed on the many guards on patrol. How in Oblivion should she get through there without raising the alarm? Sneaking around would be futile, her armor would be too loud – the only way she saw herself escape was with fighting her way out. She would need to stack up on some magic resisting potions if she wanted to survive against the Altmer wizards.

“Damn, this will be a lot harder then Delphine made it seem”, she cursed. What did that crazy lady think she was? A war machine? Immortal? Naïve enough to walk blindly into something like this? Could she really trust that contact of hers to smuggle all the necessary gear inside the Embassy without being noticed? She turned around and slowly crept away from the Embassy. She had seen enough and didn’t want to risk being spotted.

“Wait, you are still thinking of going through with her crazy plan?”, the ranger whispered behind her.

 “Bish, I know this sounds crazy. And trust me when I say I don’t exactly love going into a den of Thalmor supremacists with basically no protection, having to trust someone I’ve never even seen to smuggle my gear inside there”, she shook her head, “But it is my only lead.”

“Are you mad, princess? Why don’t we call it off now that we still have a chance?”, the ranger pulled at her arm as they returned to their horses.

“What else am I supposed to do? I have no fucking clue how Alduin returned and how I’m supposed to defeat this bloody bastard. But not only is he raising his army of dragons, but he also knows where the fuck I am”, she raged, locking her eyes with his, “I have no bloody choice!”

“All right”, he breathed, “But I don’t see how I can find a way in there. And I don’t fucking plan on letting you go in there alone. This is too dangerous, ladyship.”

“I don’t see another way in either. The fence is too high to jump over and they were smart enough to cut down any trees standing too close to the mansion. I guess I really do have to do this alone”, she felt her stomach turn on the idea.

Bishop pulled her chin up and kissed her fiercely, silencing her. “I will find a way in. No way I’ll let that Thalmor scum have your sweet ass.”

Her heart skipped a beat and she hugged him, resting her forehead on his shoulder. How could he follow her into such danger without even blinking? He had a choice, after all, he wasn’t Dragonborn, didn’t need to do these things. Why then? Was it because of her? Did he care so much about her that he was willing to risk almost certain death?

 

She was still pondering these questions when they made their way to Katla's Farm to give the horses in the stablemaster’s care. After Delphine’s sudden appearance on her doorstep they had suddenly become shy with one another again, neither wanting to talk about their shared desire in the bedroom or the feelings involved. Ylva still wasn’t sure if Bishop wanted more of her then just her body if he saw more in her then a desirable woman. But the things he said and the way he acted around her hinted at more than that. Maybe if she’d give him a little time he would see that too? And what about her own feelings? Was it mere desire and hunger for him that made her knees go weak whenever he kissed her, that made her heart beat wildly and smile whenever their eyes met? No, it certainly wasn’t. She wasn’t fooling herself anymore – she loved the ranger from the bottom of her heart.


	34. Meeting a Pirate

Bishop followed her with a few steps between them, needing a bit of space after his outburst at the Embassy. His heart ached when he thought that he had to let her go into the lion’s den without him. But since when had he become so attached? Why did he care so much that he wouldn’t be there to protect her? She hadn’t lost his power over him since that night. In fact, it had even become worse. Watching her walking in front of him, Allies reigns dangling from her hand, he was already hungering for her. Every moment he watched her he started to imagine the things he wanted to do to her the next time he got a chance to.

He had noticed that she had only booked one room for their stay. The thought of sharing her bed alone was enough to make him hard. Having her under him, her sweet moaning voice in his ears and her tightness around him – he wanted to have more of that. But the last days camping in the wild she had shied away from him. Was she afraid of bandits or a dragon suddenly appearing when they were lost in their carnal desires? Whatever her reason, tonight she was left at his mercy once more. Maybe she had knowingly given him an opening? The thought made his heart beat even faster.

When they left the horses at the stable Ylva stood still for a moment, her eyes closed as the last light of the day touched her face. Bishop admired her and again a smile crept on his face. A red goddess come alive. He was becoming restless, he wanted to return to the inn as soon as possible, taking his chance. But before he could tell her so a sudden noise drew her attention elsewhere.

A little down the road someone had scattered empty bottles on the floor, some of them breaking when they hit the ground. Ylva drew her eyebrows together, a sign that she wanted to investigate. Without hesitation, she went down to the broken bottles and addressed the culprit.

“Be careful! What are you doing that for anyway?”, she put her fists against her hip, giving her the look of a lecturer.

 “Damn! That was me last bottle of rum!”, the man, a Redguard sailor as far as the ranger could tell looked up surprised, “Hey you!”

“Oh joy, a drunk”, Ylva sighed, probably also noticing the bloodshot and bleary eyes of the men.

“Come closer, beautiful, who are you? Why haven’t I seen you around here before?”, the sailor was heavily swaying from side to side.

“Someone you don’t want to get into a shouting match with”, she replied dryly already looking around for more of the sailor’s crew.

“Oh! Shut up!”, the drunk stumbled back, “You?! What?! The power to shout a man to death? The power to shout a man to pieces!?”

The ranger was getting really annoyed by the guy. Why was she bothering with the drunk anyway? Knowing her she would help the drunk without even blinking.  

“Start making sense or I’ll demonstrate my ‘power to shout a man to death’”, Ylva crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“No. No. I’m sorry, I have a real problem lass”, the Redguard cleared his throat, “My name is Jack. Captain Jack. You see, I have absolutely no idea how I got here and, even worse, I have no idea where me ship is.”

“That takes talent, losing a whole ship. Look where you last had it, Cap’n Rum”, she remarked.

Could she please stop talking to the drunk? Next thing she probably help him get to his ship. Bishop exhaled frustrated.

“Ah! She’s got beauty and brains! Do you think you could escort me to my vessel? Wouldn’t want any lads seeing me in me vulnerable state, y’know”, the Captain leaned closer to her, making the ranger’s hand itch for his hunting knife.

“I bet you wouldn’t want ballads composed about this either…”, the tone in Ylva’s voice suggested that she was also getting irritated by the sailor. Nevertheless, she was content to help anyway. Was that her sense of duty forcing her to?

“When we get back there I’ll show you my captain’s cabin. I’ll give you the old safety talk! Goes like this: In the unlikely event me cabin loses cabin pressure, grab the person nearest to you placing him or her firmly over your nose and mouth and breathe normally!”, the sailor burst into laughter but stopped when he lost balance, “I slay me.”

Shaking her head Ylva walked on down the stairs to the docks. She turned around to wait for both the ranger and the drunk to follow.

The sailor looked at her for a moment blank-faced before he began to stumble in her direction.

“Hello again lass! Wanna steer me boat?”, he babbled.

“You’re gonna need a bigger rudder”, Bishop stepped in, not able to contain himself anymore.

Ylva turned to him, an apologetic smile on her lips. “What do you think of Jack?”

“You stumble on some drunk out in the street and think ‘Oh, let’s go with him!?’ ? At times I really question your intelligence”, he replied both impatient and annoyed that he had to wait even longer to have her for himself.

“Is that concern I hear?”, she raised an eyebrow questioningly, “Tsk, and here you keep saying you don’t care.”

Was she purposely trying to annoy him? If so it was working. He sighed.

“I don’t know why I’m always sticking my neck out for you. You better remind me why later”, he winked at her. There were some things she could do to make it up to him.

“Wow…you look like you can handle a sword…”, the sailor’s eyes were glued to the ebony axes dangling from either side of her belt.

“You have no idea, Jack”, Bishop remarked, his eyes never losing contact with hers, “She can do it one and two-handed.”

“Men”, Ylva shook her head and marched further down the stairs.

“Arrrghh! You know I’m not just a great pirate, I’m a great navigator”, the Captain bubbled on, “In fact, I’ve circumcised the globe.”

The ranger rolled his eyes. The jackass of a drunk was way to far gone.

“Ah you might think circumnavigated but NOPE! I took a shortcut. In a clipper ship!”, Jack scratched his head, “Or maybe it was a coastguard cutter…I’m in the wrong business, I should have gone into comedy. Come into my cabin, lass!”

“You wish”, Ylva glared.

“By the Nine!”, the sailor suddenly stood still and looked into the distance, “Would you…would you look at those trees! Nature is just…it’s grand…”

The ranger cocked his eyebrow. What would the jackass come up with next?

“Reminds me of a High Elf I had once…I almost wanted to yell timberrrrrr as she fell into me bed! Let’s get drunk!”

“Drunker? I think he means drunker”, Bishop didn’t mind a bit of rum, “Let’s do that!”

“Come Dragonborn! Let’s sail away!”, the Captain spread his arms.

“There’s not enough wind in your sails, buddy.” No way would the ranger allow someone to steal away with his prey.

“So I’m drunk. What of it? You gonna tie my up and use me?”, the drunk winked, “Oh please, I wouldn’t mind.”

“Ah, a man after my own heart. Only it wouldn’t be me getting tied up. Would it, princess?”

Two hazel eyes glared at him unamused.

Finally, they made it to a ship the drunk seemed to recognize.

“That’s it?”, Ylva looked at the ship, “That’s your ship?”

“Lass, it’s not the size of the boat, it’s the…oars you’re steering with, thank you!”, the sailor came even closer to her.

“Dragonborn…you’re a cl…”, he hiccupped, “classy lady! Why don’t I show you me Jolly Roger?”

Before the drunk could do anything funny Bishop firmly gripped his arms from behind.

“Put her oars on your rudder and you’re dead”, he snarled in the other ears.

“Ladyship, I’ll escort this drunk onboard. Why don’t you go ahead and get back to the inn? I’m sure you want that bath as badly as I do.”

“Thanks, Bish, that’s very nice of you!”, she looked at him surprised, “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Bishop waited for her to be out of earshot before addressing the drunk again.

“Don’t ever talk to her again, you understand me?”, he threatened.

“Didn’t know that the lassie was yours”, the sailor replied, “Come, I’ll get you a drink. As a peace offering, y’know?”

“You better have some really good stuff in your cabin”, the ranger grumbled.

 

Ylva paced up and down in her room, making Karnwyr nervous. Why hadn’t he come back yet? It didn’t take that long to get to the inn from the docks. She stood still and looked at the door. Had something happened? Had a dragon suddenly appeared? No, a dragon so close to the city would have caused a commotion. Had bandits attacked him? Also unlikely. He was a damn good fighter and bandits wouldn’t dome this close to a city anyway. Frustrated she went down to the inn. Maybe an ale would calm her mind.

When Corpulus placed the bottle in front of her the door was pushed open and loudly banged against the wall. Quickly turning around her eyes landed on Bishop and her mouth fell open. _Gods, No!_ The ranger was swaying from side to side as he looked around the room. When his blurry eyes fell on her he stumbled forward.

“Come here…You look…Like a comfy place to lay my head”, he greeted her.

Both angry and embarrassed as she felt all attention on them she grabbed his arm.

“You have a nerve to turn up this late!”, she hissed, “And utterly wasted, too!”

“You know, for a pirate…What was his name?”, the ranger roared, completely unaware of the glances thrown at them, “Joe? Bob? No…Jock? NO! Jackass!”

Ylva sighed as she let a hand glide over his face. This was not what she had planned for tonight.

“Yeah…His rum is AWFUL! I can still taste it in the back of…my…my throat! Even the Winking Skeever’s shit can’t wash it out!”

“Will you be quiet already!”, she shushed, “And his name was Jack. I don’t see any jackasses around here but you.”

“Hey I resen…I resemble that remark!”, he blurted, “Wait…shit, ugh no, no that’s no…I meant..RESENT!”

He burped, his bad breath flowing straight towards her. She crewed up her nose and turned away. Deciding that she didn’t want that ale, after all, she hauled him towards the stairs, leading him away from prying eyes. The ranger tried to brace his feet against her but weakened by the alcohol in his system he lost to her strength. Sighing she gave him something to distract him.

“Say Peter Piper ate a pick of pickled peppers five times, fast!”

“Pecker ate a pie of…penis…peppers? Wait…That’s not *hic* not what you said. Ugh. Please don’t cook that…It sounds *hic* disgusting.”

“Gods, you smell”, she breathed as another cloud of his alcohol vapor hit her sensitive nose.

“You…infuriating woman! If you had the life I had you’d be drinking too!”, he noisily sniffled, “Look, I didn’t say you were wrong. Let’s, go bathe.”

He sniggered to himself as she pushed him into their room. _Best to just put him into the bed and ask Corpulus to change the sheets tomorrow,_ she thought. With some effort, she managed to relieve him of his gauntlets, his backpack, and his coat. Pushing him onto one side of the bed she tried to get his boots off. The ranger struggled to sit up, sniggering blabbering to himself. No good, she had to distract him.

“Bishop, the world will end if you don’t tell me your middle name!”, she said, half expecting him to continue to laugh.

“Florence”, he replied, surprising her, “I mean Laurence!”

He groaned but otherwise held still.

“My parents had a debt alright? They needed to pay it off and this damn tights-wearing noble wanted them to name me after him.”

Finally done with pulling off his feet she stood up to look at him. The ranger lay on his bed, his eyes closed. Had had he already fallen asleep? Just then he started snoring.

“Great”, she breathed. Maybe that ale wasn’t a bad idea after all.

Karnwyr sniffed at his pack brother and whined.

“Don’t worry, buddy”, she gently ruffled his fur, “Tomorrow he will back to normal. Though he will probably wish he was never born come morning.”

 

A piercing pain woke the ranger several hours later. The fuck was going on? His head felt as if it was about to split open. Careful he opened one eye. Blazing light flooded the room, making him wince. It was daytime, all right. Groaning he sat up. Movement made the pain worse and he felt sick. Where was a damn chamber pot when you could use one? Fumbling helplessly around he finally found the wooden bucket. Getting his feet out of the bed he tried standing up but had to sit back down. Gosh, when was the last time he had that bad of a hangover? Looking down at his naked feet a thought struggled through his foggy mind. How had he gotten into bed? And why were his boots gone? Slowly he moved his head to look around the room. His sight was still blurry but a fleck of auburn on the other side of the room caught his attention. As his vision cleared he recognized Ylva. She was sitting in a chair, watching his every move. Had she been watching over him? More importantly, what had happened last night?

“Shit…you haven’t killed me yet so it wasn’t so bad as my hangover suggests”, he grumbled.

Ylva’s eyebrows shot up for the blink of an eye and she slowly but down the steaming mug she had held in her hand.

“Morning…Florence”, she greeted him even toned, but her eyes gleamed with glee.

“Wha- No, it’s Laur…wait”, his mind needed some time to process what she had said, “I didn’t tell you that, did I? You know what, never mind. I must have been piss ass drunk if I told you…that.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to focus. If he had been that drunk, there was no telling what he could have also done. The last thing he remembered was leaving the pirate’s ship with Ylva’s body on his mind. He couldn’t have tried anything, could he?

“Look, did we…? Did anything…happen?”

 “You missed your chance ranger”, she sighed, “Care to try again?”

Slowly realization dawned on him. She had wanted him last night, had waited for him to come so that they could enjoy their privacy. Damn, he should have never gone with that pirate. But being this hungover he doubted that he could do her honor.

“You minx”, he groaned, “It’s cruel to play with a wounded man. I’ll make it up to you….as soon as my head doesn’t feel like it’s going to split open.”

Again, he tried to stand but his knees gave way. “If you were going somewhere cold, just ignore me if I stick my head in the snow. And the next time we hit the taverns, no rum.”

 


	35. Plotting and Passion

Ylva had a hard time to keep a straight face as she watched the ranger struggle out of bed. She had had a few disastrous hangovers in her life, mostly due to one of her Shield-Siblings coming back from a job with a story to tell and glory to be celebrated. By the look of it, the ranger had a really bad one. _Treats him right,_ she thought as she sipped on her green tea, _if he had come back right away he could have had a different kind of party._

With his guard so low she couldn’t resist having some fun with him. The look of horror on his face as she addressed him with his wrong middle name on purpose was golden. Not being one for too much cruelty she left him with a potion for regeneration and some green tea to get rid of the hangover.

She had to find the Bosmer to take care of the task at hand and maybe get even more intel on the Thalmor Embassy. Delphine told her that he’d be at the Winking Skeever but apparently had forgotten to mention when he’d show up. Since he had to show up sooner or later Ylva decided to keep an eye out while she waited in the seating area of the tavern. The Winking Skeever was rarely empty, but a Bosmer would stick out despite or maybe because of their small form. Luck seemed not on her side so far though, as there was no sign of the Bosmer anywhere.

Pulling out a pencil and her journal she wrote down what she knew so far: Alduin had returned and somehow had the power to raise dragons from the dead. She could kill those dragons and absorb their life force. For a short moment, her left hand rested on her chest, where she could feel their souls and power within her. The Thalmor seemed to hold some information about the dragons return, as far as Delphine suggested. It made sense, for Talos was a Dragonborn himself and the Thalmor were known to learn as much about him to better rout out his following. The Embassy seemed to be their center of operation, again according to Delphine. That meant she would need to be extra careful around the Ambassador Elenwen. It would be best if that Altmer wouldn’t know that she was Dragonborn, she needed to talk to her aunt to not mention that to her if she crossed path with the Altmer. Maybe she could ask one of the guards outside the Castle Dour to tell her aunt to come to see her.

Sighing she lent back to let her eyes wander over the patrons again but there was still no sign of the Bosmer. And what if Delphine’s gut was wrong and the Thalmor knew nothing? Then back to square one and off to the Greybeards again. There had to be something that would bring them to give her the information she needed. Then there was that ball business. How should she convince anyone of taking her to that ball without making it known she was the Dragonborn? Even as Harbinger the chances of getting in were more than meager. What did a renowned warrior have to do with dancing and mingling with the nobles of Tamriel after all? Too many problems and not a solution in sight. She abandoned the journal and switched to her lute she had brought down with her. Plucking the strings to ease her mind she let her eyes wander.

 

Somewhat restored to his usual self by the potion, tea, and a cold bath, the tub had still been in their room but the water had become cold, he went looking for Ylva. The sound of soft music as he came down the stairs instantly drew him closer. He wasn’t surprised to find her surrounded by a small cluster of people. Wherever they went, people flocked her, drawn by the power flowing through her and the beauty of her music. _Aren’t you the same?_ the small voice in his head jibed. He had no answer. But watching her, the lute resting in her lap as her fingers skillfully danced over the stings, her auburn hair that she had put up in a high ponytail softly falling over her shoulders, his heart began to race.

No, there was more than her beauty and her power that he felt drawn to. Her quick wit, and smart mind, her loyalty towards her friends and her strong sense for justice and duty, her unbroken trust in him, the way she accepted the bits of his past without judging him. All that and more made him want to never leave her side again. _By the gods, I’m not falling in love, am I?,_ he asked himself. No, he had sworn himself to never do that. Love made people do stupid things. Why was he even thinking about it? Probably the rum was still messing with his brain. But when Ylva’s eyes found his he couldn’t help but smile at her.

 

The elf arrived in the late afternoon when Ylva had long retired her lute and the small group of listeners had scattered. Bishop and she had been playing cards, with the ranger again losing all his money to her, as she noticed the Bosmer nervously looking around the room before sitting down at a table in a dark corner of the tavern.

“That’s gotta be him”, the ranger remarked, “Shall we go over?”

“No, let’s wait a little bit longer. It may be a trap”, she replied.

They continued to watch the Bosmer. He looked around nervously several times. When Ylva was convinced that it was not an act, she waved for Corpulus and ripped a page from her journal, writing down a note.

“What can I do for you?”, the innkeeper said as he arrived at their table.

“Can you get an ale for the Bosmer over at that table with this note?”, she discretely handed him the piece of paper.

“Sure”, the Nord nodded and went back to the counter to fetch a mug.

“You sure that you can trust that guy?”, Bishop muttered, “He is known to love gossip.”

“Of course not. But I didn’t write anything that would cause suspicion”, she watched the Bosmer from the corner of her eye.

Corpulus arrived at the table and handed him both the mug of ale and the note, then retreated to his counter. The elf looked around surprised, trying to find the sponsor of the ale. When his gaze met hers she slightly lifted her own mug. Nodding slowly, he looked back at the folded paper in his hand. Quickly his eyes skimmed the few lines. He stood up and came over to them.

“Thanks for the ale”, he stammered nervously.

“Thank our mutual friend”, she smiled, “Come, sit with us.”

The Bosmer sat down. She could smell his fear and finally was sure that his nervousness wasn’t an act. You couldn’t fake real fear. It took him a moment to muster the courage to speak up.

“Really? You're who she picked? I hope she knows what she's doing”, his tone suggested that he wasn’t very happy with Delphine’s choice, “Here's the deal. I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you. Don't plan on bringing anything else in with you. The Thalmor take security very seriously. I'm ready to go. Give me what you can't live without, and I'll make sure to get it into the Embassy. The rest is up to you.”

“Anything you can tell me about the Embassy? How many guards are there? And what about Elenwen?”, she leaned closer.

“You’re asking me?”, he raised his voice more than she liked, “She promised that she was sending someone who knew what they were doing.”

“Keep your voice down, damn it”, she shot back, “And our mutual friend seems to believe me to be a psychic since she told me close to nothing.”

“I don’t know how many guards there are. Maybe twenty?”, he scratched his head, “Maybe more. Elenwen is a narcissistic bitch. Tell her how smart she is and she will be friendly towards you.”

“All right. As far as I have seen there are two buildings. I guess Elenwen’s office is in the smaller in the back?”, Ylva tired to get more out of the Bosmer.

“Yes, but I’ve never been in there. I only serve drinks at the parties”, he replied, “So are you done? I need to get back as soon as possible.”

“I’m ready. Here’s what I’ll need”, she discretely slid a bundle of things under the table towards him. When the elf wanted to grab it, she reached over and pulled him closer.

“If anything is missing, I’ll swear I’ll find you and show you just how skilled I am”, she hissed warningly. The Bosmer flinched and nodded.

“I won’t do anything funny, I swear”, he promised.

Nodding she let him go and lent back in her chair. Malborn hastily took the bundle.

“Okay. I'll get this inside the Embassy for you. I've got to go”, he stood up but hesitated for a moment and turned back around, “I'll find you at the party, don't worry.”

 

They had been watching the elf leave the tavern silently. Ylva had been restless, watching the elf go with her armor and weapons. Would she really see them again? She could care less about the potions she had packed, but she already missed the weight of her axes at her side, feeling exposed. She wasn’t defenseless, she still had her hunting knife – a blade sharp enough to cut through the thickest of hides easily – and she could easily shout her enemies to pieces or burn them alive. That didn’t mean she felt confident without her armor and weapons.

“I don’t like this”, the ranger remarked.

“There’s no turning back Bish”, her voice was calm and set, even though her gut felt tight with unease.

“Are you sure that elf isn’t going to run off with your armor and sell it?”, he continued.

“I don’t think he will, he’s way too scared to do that”, she got up. She didn’t want any of the other patrons overhearing their discussion.

“Princess, I still don’t think you should go”, the ranger warned her as he followed her up the stairs.

“Bish”, she sighed, “I thought I made myself pretty clear yesterday.”

Karnwyr looked up as they entered the room. While Corpulus suffered the wolf in one of his chambers he wasn’t letting him scare away his patrons. Feeling the tension between the two he retired to another corner to let them settle their tension alone.

“You infuriating woman! Why can’t you just walk away?”, the ranger turned her around.

“I can’t and you know it”, she argued.

“Like hell, you can’t. You have a choice”, he pleaded with her.

“I know it’s risky, but…”, she started.

He pushed her against the door so suddenly she didn’t have time to react. As she looked up she saw his amber eyes blazing with fire. His lips found hers in a passionate kiss, making her knees grow weak. Strong hands pinned her wrists above her, rendering her immobile.

“You are making me crazy, woman”, his voice was a soft growl, “How about I’ll do the same to you?”

She felt his warm breath on her skin, making the hairs on her neck stand up. Her heart raced in her chest as she felt his thumbs tracing small circles on her wrists. How could he make her submit to him so easily? His teeth nibbled on her ear, making her shiver with excitement. A moan escaped her lips and she arched to press her body against his. A smirk flashed over his face as he kissed her again. Playfully she sucked at his lower lip rewarding her with a low moan in return. His tongue invited her own into a fiery dance. She felt her skin yearn for the touch of his rough hands. Every fiber in her body was set aflame with desire.

As if he could read her mind Bishop released her wrists to let his hands glide down over her body. When he reached her butt, he pressed her harder against him, making her feel his hardness. Feeling his erection grinding against her she felt hot desire burning in her lower parts. She was more than ready for him, only the layer of clothes hindered them. Her fingers fumbled for the hem of his shirt, desperate to get rid of the barrier. Swiftly she pulled the shirt over his head.

“Someone is in a hurry”, he teased.

“Shut up”, she breathed as she pulled him into another kiss.

He brushed the grey vest she was wearing off her shoulders and began to untie the laces holding her shirt together. Her own fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, pushing him forward towards the bed. They stumbled forward, quickly discarding boots and her shirt on the way. When they had almost reached it, he whirled them around and threw her on the mattress.

“You’re mine”, he hungrily licked his lips as his fingers as he pulled down her trousers.

“Then come and get me”, she looked at him with eyes dark with lust.

“Naughty princess”, he grinned as he got rid of his own pants, letting his erection spring free. Her mouth suddenly felt dry with desire and she swallowed hard. Like the first time, she wondered how something so big could fit into her. Bishop lay down next to her, probed up on one elbow and let his gaze wander over her body.

“You are beautiful”, he breathed as his free hand began to glide over her body.

“You’re not half bad yourself”, she teased. Her own fingers traced the muscles of his chest and stomach. He groaned when she finally reached the patch of curly hair and his twitching member and gently began to stroke up and down his length. Gasping she arched her back when he returned the favor and let two fingers slide into her.

“Don’t stop”, she moaned.

“Whatever my ladyship commands”, he grinned.

His fingers explored her wetness and his thumb began to circle the small bud. Bolts as if she had been struck by a lightning spell shot through her body and she moaned even louder.

“Let me hear more of your sweet voice”, he whispered in her ear as he continued to pleasure her with his skilled hands. She wanted more of him and pressed herself into his hand, letting his fingers reach even deeper. Her own hand quickened the pace of the strokes, making his breath ragged. er

When she couldn’t bear it anymore she pushed him flat on the bed and straddled him.

“Today you’re mine”, she grinned at him as he looked at her surprised.

Careful she lowered herself onto his shaft. Moaning she took him in deeper and deeper, feeling how his head rubbed against her walls. Bishop groaned and closed his eyes as she took him all the way in. Slowly she began to move up and down, placing her hands on his chest for support. His hands came to rest on her hips as he started to move with her. She felt that he fought hard to not take over the control. Seeing his struggle, she bowed down to him and kissed him, without stopping moving.

When he finally couldn’t take it anymore he started to pound her from below, firmly holding her wrists to keep her from regaining control. The fire in her felt unbearable and she felt an orgasm draw near. Suddenly he drew out and pushed her down on the mattress.

“I’m not done with you yet”, he groaned in her ear.

He threw one of her legs on his shoulder and thrust into her, reaching even deeper than before. On his third thrust, she felt the orgasm ripping through her and groaned in pleasure. He let her ride out her orgasm and slowed down but didn’t stop thrusting altogether. When the last wave ebbed away he picked up his pace again.

“I’ll let you come again and again tonight”, he smirked, “I want you to scream my name!”

Not able to answer she moaned and pressed herself harder against him. She wanted more of him.

“Harder”, she managed in between moans, “More!”

“The naughty princess wants more?”, the rangers grin broadened. His thrusts became even faster and rougher. Ylva’s nails dug into the skin of his thigh as another orgasm rippled through her body.

“Bishop!”, she moaned, “Don’t stop!”

He did what she asked, pounding her so hard that she felt the slatted frame of the bed on her backside. Then he suddenly pulled out and turned her around. Firmly grabbing her hips, he forced her up on her knees and entered her from behind. By now the room around her was a blurry mess as she was lost to the sensation of being one with the ranger. As she felt a third orgasm nearing he himself tensed up.

“Ylva”, he groaned as his orgasm shuddered through him. Feeling his manhood twitch and release its hot juice inside her was enough to send her over the final edge, screaming his name again and again.


	36. Vampires and knightly Invitations

She was lying in his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, listening to the beating of his heart. Her fingers traced a small white line on his chest, a scar that would probably soon fade completely. How many of those had already faded away with time? How many more were there to come?

“What are you thinking about?”, the familiar deep voice drew her attention upwards where amber eyes were watching her.

“How some scars simply fade away”, she said truthfully.

“Your mind goes down some strange roads, y’know?”, he hugged her closer and placed a kiss on her head, “Why don’t you sleep a little?”

“I can’t”, she snuggled closer, enjoying the peaceful moment, “I still have no idea how to get inside this Grand Crystal Ball.”

“Why don’t you just forget about that and let’s enjoy ourselves the best we can for the next few days?”, he suggested, “We could still clear out a cave or go out hunting if we get bored.”

The offer was tempting. Delphine hadn’t exactly told her that she _had_ to get into it. Maybe it was all right not to go? But she still needed to contact her aunt! Elenwen should not know that the strange new guest was the Dragonborn.

“Fine, we can enjoy ourselves a little more”, she decided, “But I need to find my aunt. I thought it might be best not to let Elenwen know about the Dragonborn business.”

“Yeah”, he mumbled into her hair, “Probably shouldn’t tell the elf that you worship Talos, too.”

“You know?”, she looked at him surprised.

“Come on, ladyship”, he gently put a strand of hair behind her ear, “you have an almost 7 feet tall Talos statue in your basement and always carry an amulet with you. I may not be smart but I’m not blind.”

Feeling caught she bit her lip. It was true, she wasn’t exactly hiding that she worshipped the forbidden god but he hadn’t addressed it until now.

“Though I have to admit that it still surprised me with your Dad being in the Legion and all”, he continued.

“It’s his amulet that I’m wearing actually”, Ylva explained, settling her head back on his chest, “He firmly believed that the White Cold Concordat was a huge mistake, always telling me to watch my back around Altmer and other merfolk. But he believed that the Empire had to stay together if the elves decided to attack again.”

“Your dad sounds like a really smart person”, Bishop mused.

“He was”, as always when she thought about her father she felt her heart ache for him.

They stayed silent for a time, enjoying the warmth of the other and their closeness. It was Ylva that got restless first.

“I need to get going and find my aunt”, she got out of bed but then grimaced.

“What’s wrong?”, the ranger was watching her.

“Is it normal that this stuff is running down your leg afterward?”, she went to the wash basin to quickly wipe herself down.

“Oh fuck. I didn’t mean to come inside you”, Bishop sounded alarmed.

“It’s fine, really. My courses are due to in a couple of days anyway”, she shrugged, “Aela taught me to sniff out the dangerous days when we both joined the Circle, something she claimed her mum had taught her before, but that would mean she had been a werewolf before she joined the Circle. I guess my mum would have taught me if she would have been alive back then.”

“Sniff it out? Like a wolf sniffs out a bitch in heat?”, the ranger chuckled.

“Bishop!”, she couldn’t help but blush, “It’s not like that at all!”

“You started”, he replied.

Shaking her head, she continued dressing.

“Don’t you want to put on some clothes too?”, she turned back to the bed once she was done, “Or do you want to wait here for me?”

“All right, all right”, he sighed, “I’ll come.”

 

It was already dark outside when they finally climbed the stairs towards Castle Dour. Light was shining down from some windows, but the courtyard was almost empty with only the guards on duty remaining. The two men guarding the entrance to the Castle were newer recruits and didn’t recognize Ylva.

“You’re trespassing, citizen”, one of them called out, a Breton barely reaching her shoulder, “State your business or leave.”

“Ylva of the Twice-named Clan, Harbinger of the Companions”, she squared her shoulders, indicating that she was not to be trifled with, “I wish to speak to Legate Rikke.”

“The Legate is not available”, the other guard, a Nord, replied quickly.

“Then bring her a message from me”, she looked from one to the other, “Tell her to come to see me as soon as she can. I’m residing at the Winking Skeever for two more nights.”

“Of course, Harbinger”, the Nord nodded eagerly.

“See to it that she gets the message as soon a possible”, Ylva emphasized, “The Legate would not be amused if she finds out you didn’t deliver it.”

“We will, possibly”, the Breton answered slowly, giving his fellow guard a strange look.

When they walked away she could hear the Nord angrily whisper, probably letting the other know _who_ he had just disrespected.

“You think your aunt will come?”, Bishop asked as they retreated back to the inn.

“I’m sure of it”, Ylva nodded.

 

Suddenly a scream pierced the silence of the night and sent the trio rushing towards the gate.

“Fucking Vampires!”, she cursed when she saw the dark figures and their death hound attacking the city guard. Instinctively her hands reached down to her belt only to find it empty. _Fuck_! How should she fight without weapons? A thought shot through her head.

“Give me that sword Bish, quick!”, she turned to the ranger, relieved that she had insisted he should carry another weapon for close combat besides his trusty hunting knife.

“Are you mad? You don’t wear any armor!”, he bellowed, “Fucking stay behind me, woman!”

He drew his bow that he luckily had brought along and let loose arrow after arrow.

The vampires were too strong for the city guard to handle, even with the ranger’s support.  One guard had lost hold of his weapon as the vampire drained his life force using a spell. Ignoring Bishop’s cursing she jumped forward, swiftly picked up the sword and pierced the vampire’s heart. Knowing that that was hardly enough to kill the undead creature she breathed fire.

“Ylva, watch out!”, Bishop yelled.

The second vampire had turned towards her, the promise of power in her blood drawing him close. She barely managed to escape the spell aimed at her.

A sharp pain in her arm made her cry out. A death hound had sneaked up on her, his scent of decay masked by the vampire’s own stink. His bite felt as cold as ice as it hungrily drank her blood. Karnwyr came to her aid and jumped on the hound’s back, his sharp teeth digging deep into the rotten flesh. As she stumbled back she felt the hairs on her neck stand up and herself growing weak. Quickly looking around she found the vampire working the spell to her left. She gathered her breath to counter.

“YOL TOR!”

The flames engulfed the vampire, making him screech in terror. Before she could finish him, the tip of a blade pierced through his chest. A warrior in a steel armor appeared behind it. Turning around she saw that Bishop and Karnwyr had taken care of the death hound and the vampires’ thrall she hadn’t even noticed.

The ranger stormed towards her, his face white with both fear and anger.

“To Oblivion with you, woman!”, he yelled at hear, “I told you to stay behind me!”

“I can’t stand by and let people die”, she defended herself and crossed her arms. With the numbness of the ice bite gone however she started to feel the painful throbbing there and winced.

“See what you did? If you’d listened you wouldn’t have been hurt”, he grabbed her arm to look at the damage and to pull her close.

“And great job at keeping that Dragonborn business secret”, he growled more quietly, “The whole town will be talking about you tomorrow!”

“I doubt that with most of the town asleep and it being dark”, she hissed back.

His grip on her arm tightened, making her sharply suck in air through gritted teeth.

“Maybe I can be of assistance?”, the warrior in steel armor approached them, “I can heal the wound.”

Up close she noticed that he was Imperial, though taller then most she had met.

“Nah, we can take care of it on our own”, Bishop started, but the Imperial ignored his protest and took her hand from him.

“Let me heal you, fair lady”, his hands began to glow golden as he touched the bloody bite mark.

While being no stranger to healing magic, she hadn’t always been that good with potions, the tingling sensation when the blood stopped flowing out and her wounds closing made her feel strange.

“Thank you”, she said when the warrior was done.

“Forgive me for intruding, my lady, but I believe you are whom I am looking for. Are you the Dragonborn?”, dark blue eyes looked at her intently.

“What makes you think that?”, she quickly looked around, hoping no one else had heard him say it.

“Though mages have mastered the art of controlling fire for a long time, I have yet to see one cast it from their mouth”, the other man said.

“All right”, she gave in, “I _may_ be Dragonborn, but keep your voice down!”

“My lady, my name is Casavir. I have been searching for the Dragonborn for some time now, in hopes of aiding you in your journey to keep the dragons at bay. I would like to offer my assistance”, the Imperial indicated a bow without letting go of her hand.

“Ugh, that is just great”, Bishop groaned next to her, his scowl deeper then usual, “If it isn’t everybody’s favorite white knight.”

The ranger took Ylva’s hand out of the other man’s and pushed her behind him.

“I was not expecting to run into you here, but the irony of it all definitely suits you”, he growled.

What has gotten into him? Did the two men know each other?

“I merely wish to assist her, much as I imagine you are doing now, Bishop”, Casavir replied, his eyes turning cold when meeting the rangers gaze.

“She doesn’t need you. Go help someone who wants your holy righteousness, it’s not wanted here!”, the ranger snarled.

Looking from one to the other it was clear that there was bad blood between them. With Bishops past as a bandit and the other one being a paladin, there were only a few chances that their previous encounters had been friendly.

“At least with me, her moral aptitude wouldn’t plummet to the flaming depth of Oblivion”, the paladin shot back, “which, I’m sure, with you along, it has been sorely tempted to do.”

“You think a little too highly of yourself, Paladin”, Bishop crossed his arms in front of his chest, “With you along she’d get so bored, she’d sprint and dive headfirst into those flames; anything to make her feel alive again.”

Having enough of being talked about as if she was not there she squared her shoulders.

“ENOUGH!”, she yelled.

Both men glared at each other. Still sour because of the ranger’s earlier treatment she turned towards the Imperial.

“Maybe you can help me”, she said thoughtfully, making the ranger growl in disapproval.

“I am pleased to hear you are giving it some thought”, the blue eyes settled on her again.

“As you’ve shown, you can handle yourself”, she praised him, knowing that it would annoy the ranger.

“You are most kind”, the Paladin bowed his head in gratitude, “I am skilled in the art of battle and of healing.”

Intrigued and also simply to get on Bishop's nerves, even more, she continued: “Tell me more about yourself.”

“I have traveled a very long distance to get to Skyrim. I met others along the way that have made a similar journey.”

“Is that how you met Bishop?”, eager to learn more about the man she loved she pressed further.

“Our paths have crossed a few times”, the Paladin avoided her gaze. There was something he didn’t want to tell her.

“You two are clearly cross with one another, I assume you have some history.”

“To be honest, he is nothing but a savage wolf looking for his next victim”, Casavir shot the ranger a glance full of disgust and hatred, “As a Paladin, I have sworn to protect the innocent and bring justice when evil has taken hold. I defend the world from people like him.”

“A savage wolf, huh?”, Ylva rolled her eyes, “Let me be the judge of that.”

Heard enough to realize that she was not going to enjoy the other’s company any longer she half turned to leave.

“Thank you again for healing me, Casavir. I hope that you will enjoy your stay here in Solitude”, she told him.

As she was turning towards the Winking Skeever, a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Actually, that brings up a question I wanted to ask you and away from prying ears”, the blue eyes bored themselves into hers.

“Not going to happen”, Ylva was getting annoyed by the Imperial.

“I know we’ve just met, my lady, but I wanted to request your presence to attend the Grand Crystal Ball with me at the Blue Palace, here in Solitude”, the Paladin quickly added, “I am new to these lands, and I am unfamiliar with the customs of Skyrim, and I was hoping you could offer me some guidance.”

She was frozen in her tracks. Had he just mentioned the Grand Crystal Ball? A look towards the ranger suggested that he despised the idea of her in another one’s arms dancing. But if it meant that it would help her cause? If it meant not being found out by Elenwen and actually able to leave the Embassy alive? Surely, he could forgive her if it meant her protection?

“I’ve been asked to attend as a guest of honor, and I was hoping that you would join me”, the Paladin continued, “If you choose to decline, I understand.”

Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. Accepting meant possibly improving her cover and showing that crazy woman that she could manage on her own just fine. But it also meant to upset the ranger, possibly breaking the small bond that had grown between them. When her eyes met his amber orbs staring at her fiercely she finally decided.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, considering we have just met”, she politely declined the offer, letting a victorious grin erupt on Bishops face.

If the Paladin was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “If you will not attend with me, my lady, please do come to celebrate the festivities. I would love for you to enjoy yourself.”

Giving Bishop a pleading look, she turned back to the Paladin: “I suppose, allowing myself some fun wouldn’t be so bad.”

“You delight me, my lady. I am overjoyed that you have accepted my request”, the Imperial beamed with joy, “Might I suggest getting a ball gown? There’s an excellent shop here in Solitude called ‘the Jewel’. They have an excellent collection of gowns that might interest you. I will inform the owner of the shop that I will compensate her for anything you wish to purchase.”

“Thank you, Casavir, but that won’t be necessary. I can pay for my own gown”, Ylva was reluctant to accept a gift from a stranger. Who knew what he would expect in return?

“If that’s your wish. I will meet you here at sundown and I will escort you to the Grand Crystal Ball, my fair lady”, the paladin bowed again.

She didn’t need to look at the ranger to know that his amber eyes were burning with anger. _Oh Talos, Kyne, Shor, I could really use some help now…_


	37. Preparing for a Ball

“The fuck were you thinking?”, Bishop slammed the door of their room closed as soon as they got back.

“I was trying to decline if you haven’t noticed!”, Ylva turned around, her hazel eyes narrowing at him.

“Yeah, you tried so fucking hard”, the ranger felt his anger boil. From all the men roaming around the city with invitations to the Ball, they, of course, had to find the _one_ person Bishop despised more than anything.

“You damn well know that I need as much cover I can get when going into the Embassy”, she snapped back, “Do you really think I’ll throw myself at that paladin as soon as we get to the ball? Do you have that little faith in me?”

“It’s him I don’t trust!”, Bishop raged, “He might come off as that holy knight, but he’s still a man. I don’t care how he justifies the lies he tells himself: he can’t deny his manhood. You’re the kind of woman that gets a man’s heart beating and the blood flowing. He’s not going to be able to lie to himself about that. So you better be ready when he breaks.”

She grabbed him by his collar, startling him as he looked into her eyes blazing with anger.

“I’m not some naïve girl! If anyone starts something funny I’m more then capable to protect myself!”

“By blowing your fucking cover? Like you did with the guards?”, Bishop didn’t let himself be intimidated.

“Why are you so upset about that? The vampires are dead and I wasn’t that badly hurt”, she let him go, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

This woman was driving him mad. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw her slip past him and pick up that blade. How could she just run into battle with only some clothes to protect herself from the vampires’ deadly fangs? Was her life worth so little to her? No matter if the soul of a dragon lived within her, she was still mortal! Why couldn’t she understand that he didn’t want her to be harmed?

“You still were hurt!”, he felt like shouting, “Why can’t you for once simply _not_ get yourself into danger?”

“That’s my fucking job!”, she was getting really worked up, too.

“To Oblivion with you, woman!”, his hands grabbed her auburn hair, pulling her into an angry kiss. She struggled to come free but he wasn’t letting go of her. If words weren’t enough to get through that thick skull of hers he had to show her. A sharp pain made him pull back. Shocked he realized she had bitten his lip. Ylva herself seemed to be taken back as she saw the blood oozing from the bite.

“I didn’t mean to bite down that hard”, she confessed, “But you can’t just kiss me and force me to submit to you every time you feel like it.”

“Force you to what?”, he was confused. Speaking hurt like hell and he winced.

“I’m sorry, Bish”, she was already searching for a potion of healing, her tone full of regret.

Successful in her search she came back to him: “Come, let me take care of it.”

Gently she spread some potion over the small wound making the pain go away.

“I understand you’re jealous and that there’s some bad blood between you two”, she let her hand gently run over his cheek, “I’ll be careful, all right? I truly will be. If I fuck up tomorrow, I might not leave that Embassy, with my gear there or not.”

“If I was jealous, _he_ wouldn’t be breathing”, Bishop replied, the throbbing in his lip completely gone.

An auburn eyebrow shot up as she remarked sarcastically, “Yeah, sure.”

She turned around and rummaged through her stock of potions, fishing out a small vial with red liquid. Uncorking it, she downed the vail in one go.

“What was that for?”, he asked, “Hasn’t the paladin healed you?”

“Since my beast is gone I’m no longer immune to sickness”, she explained, “I’m not taking any chances of becoming a damned vampire.”

So she wasn’t _completely_ ignorant about her health, that was a start. Maybe she was even a little bit sorry for jumping recklessly into danger? The ranger shook his head. Even if she was, she’d still do it again.

“Come on ladyship, let’s get some sleep”, he resigned.

 

Ylva woke only to find the ranger gone. Sleepy she looked around the room. Where could he have gone that early? The light pouring in from the small windows suggested that it was still early morning. Yawning she got out of bed, startling Karnwyr.

“Hey buddy”, she bent down and patted his big fluffy head, “Where has our pack brother gone?”

The wolf leaned into her touch, clearly enjoying the attention. That he was still here meant that the ranger couldn’t be far off as well. Since the air in their room was a bit stifling she went to open a window. When she came closer she heard a familiar voice from below. Carefully she opened the window and peered down.

“Why have you asked me to come?”, the ranger stood with crossed arms. She couldn’t see his face but she could imagine that he was glaring at the other angrily.

“I needed to speak to you”, the deep voice of the paladin answered.

“Ah, you wish to question me about Ylva, don’t you? You must be really getting knotted up if you’re taking the time to speak with me.”

“It has nothing to do with her”, the Paladin replied quickly.

“Well, in that case, you can cut the bullshit! Because otherwise you and I have nothing to discuss”, Bishop's voice was full of despise.

“I am watching you, Bishop. I do not trust you, and she shouldn’t either.”

“Really, that’s the best you can do?”, the ranger chuckled, “You must be the hundredth lust-filled, lick her boots maniac that’s quoted that phrase to me. Funny though, literally the same thing that I told her about you: you’re not to be trusted.”

“What do you mean?”, the Paladin clearly had been taken by surprise by the ranger’s remark.

“I told her you’re not half the saint you pretend to be”, Bish stepped closer and lowered his voice, forcing Ylva to really concentrate to understand him over the noises of the waking city, “You’re the worst kind of liar, Casavir. You want so badly for people to accept the image you present that you convince your own self it’s the truth. Tell me, when you look in a mirror, what do ya see? I bet you’ve even brainwashed your reflection.”

“Hold your tongue, Bishop!”

“No, no you are in way deeper than that. There’s not an ounce of honesty in those eyes. She’s too good for you, and she’s gonna see right through that mask you put on”, the ranger continued, “You may begin the night as this ‘saint’, Paladin. But the man in you will want that wench in his bed, just as any red-blooded man would.”

“Do not speak of her that way!”, Casavir seemed really worked up now. Even high up from her window she could sense his anger. Why did these men always think they needed to defend her honor? First her brothers and now this guy. She was more than able to defend herself.

“Don’t try and play martyr with me”, Bishop sneered, “She’s more than capable of defending her own honor. She doesn’t need you or anyone else to jump in front of her enemies’ arrows. Your lust blinds you that fact that she’s too much woman for you to handle.”

That was something new. Had the ranger finally realized that she would always do what she deemed right? With a slight smile on her lips, she continued to listen.

“No, she wants a man who’s not afraid of making the hard decisions. And who will do what must be done. She wants a man who’s a sight more honest, than anyone who wears a temple’s cloak on their shoulder. Who carries himself like some kind of standard for others to look up to.”

The ranger turned away from the paladin, who was left dumb folded, but addressed him one last time: “The morning is waning, guest of honor. I suggest you begin preparing yourself for the hardest struggle of your life. The hot, flesh-and-blood woman you’ll have on your arm tonight. Now, be a good boy and get lost.”

Quickly Ylva stepped back from the window and crawled back to bed, not wanting the ranger to know that she had been eavesdropping. Karnwyr joined her, putting his big head on her belly. Scratching his ears, she thought about what she heard. Casavir and Bishop definitely had some history together and it was more than any of them had let on until now. Maybe she could get the paladin to talk at the ball? Though she had to be careful around him. Even if Bishop hadn’t warned her she’d still mistrust the knight. Her gut told her that there was something off with him. And she didn’t like how he talked to her. She was not a delicate lady but a proud warrior. Maybe some noblewoman would swoon over the knight but not her. Bishop was right with what she was looking for in a man, but had he realized that he had described himself?  

“For a tracker, he sometimes is rather blind, right buddy?”, she asked Karnwyr.

The wolf yawned and shook his head. Chuckling she looked at the door hearing steps coming up the stairs. The door opened to reveal Bishop with a surprised look on his face.

“Oh, you’re already awake?”, he asked sheepishly.

“I am”, she answered, “And what were you up to?”

“Nothing”, the ranger came towards the bed. When he tried to join them Karnwyr growled at his brother.

“What are you playing at, buddy?”, the ranger asked surprised.

“I guess he doesn’t want to share me”, Ylva winked.

“Not fair”, Bishop looked down at the wolf that snuggled closer to her.

“Well, I guess you shouldn’t have left if you wanted me for yourself?”, she teased. Apparently, he had not noticed her watching him from the window.

“Not like I had much choice”, Bishop grumbled.

“You can tell me later where you’ve gone off to, let’s have breakfast. And I need to get a dress and prepare for that ball”, she sighed, “So I’ll have to do some shopping. You wanna come?”

“Sure”, he shrugged.

 

The entry to the Jewel laid somewhat hidden on the right side of the marketplace. Feeling a little nervous she pushed open the heavy doors. The shop was light by many candles and from somewhere came the soft music of a harp. Statues of Dibella framed a small fountain located in the back. On the many tables, jewelry was carefully positioned. Ylva had never seen a finer collection of jewelry and dresses. Involuntarily her hand reached to the sack of gold and she asked herself if that was enough to pay for these gowns. She despised to travel with too much gold on her, keeping most of her riches either in Jorrvaskr or at home in a safe.

“Hello and welcome to the Jewel”, a raven-haired woman came towards her, “Are you Ylva? Casavir has informed me that I should be expecting you. Welcome.”

“This place is amazing!”, she said truthfully.

“I had it designed specifically in the likeness of the Blue Palace. My own rendition”, the shop owner smiled, “Would you like to browse my finest dress collection? Everything you desire will be given to you, compliments of Casavir.”

Damn that paladin. He had ignored her wish to pay for herself, probably wishing to flatter her. Too bad that it had the opposite effect on her.

“What would you recommend for the Grand Crystal Ball?”, Ylva pushed her hurt pride aside.

“Please follow me”, the raven-haired woman led her to a row of really expensive looking gowns.

“These are very popular at the moment”, the shop owner assured her, “You will all the men looking at you.”

Ylva looked at the gowns skeptically. Most of them featured a tight corset and hoop skirt. _How should I move with those on?_

“The Royal Emerald would really bring out your eye color”, the shop owner gestured towards a green dress, “Shall I help you put it on?”

“Yes, that would be lovely”, Ylva replied.

They retreated into the back of the store where she changed. When the woman pulled the corset tight Ylva had to involuntarily gasp for air. How could anyone do that to oneself out of their own free will?

“You look amazing! All the men will chase after you!”, the woman admired her handiwork.

“And catch me too, cause I can’t breathe”, she remarked under her breath as she turned searching for a looking glass. There was one to her right and she stepped towards it. She couldn’t believe was her eyes showed her, was that really herself looking back from the mirror? She looked like a princess from a foreign land. But she felt uncomfortable and not herself at all.

“I don’t think that is the right choice”, she turned back to the shop owner, “Do you have something else?”

The woman threw her a disapproving glance.

“Let me get something else”, she replied.

 

After the fourth, the shop owner was visibly frustrated. Ylva herself was also losing hope of finding something that she could bear wearing the rest of the day. Frustrated she looked around. By chance, her eyes fell on a dress slightly hidden away in a corner.

“What about that one?”, she pointed at the dress.

“But that is so last season!”, the shop owner protested, “You will be the center of gossip if you wear that.”

“I’d still like to try it on”, she insisted.

“If that’s your wish.”

One look in the mirror was enough to ensure Ylva that she made the right choice. The dress laid tight against her form, but not in an uncomfortable way, flattering her curves. Her tattoo shone through the sheer sleeves, beautifully accentuating it.

“I’ll take this one”, Ylva said.

“You will be laughed at, but if that’s your wish”, the shop owner shook her head, “There’s some jewelry that goes well with the dress, let me get that.”  


Bishop was scuffling with Karnwyr, the two of them growing restless the longer they waited. Seriously, how long could it take to find a dress? Suddenly he heard someone clearing his throat and looked up. What he saw made him hold his breath.

The dress hugged her curves beautifully. Silver embroidery on black velvet on the collar was contrasting with the golden glow of her cinnamon skin, giving her the look of molten gold. The neckline showed some of her beautiful tattoo, making it look as if the tattoo had been a part of the dress’ design from the start. The silver lace bodice transitioned into a black skirt with an intricate embroidery in silver, reaching all the way down over her feet. The sheer sleeves glistered silver in the candlelight. He could still see her tattoo through the thin fabric. Her auburn locks had been pinned up, only two locks had been left to frame her face. A golden tiara crowned her head and golden butterflies dangled from her ears and a necklace.

“Wow! You look amazing!”, he said as he finally found his words again.

“Do you think Casavir will like my dress?”, she looked down at herself. It hurt him that she was thinking about the paladin. The longer he looked at her, the more he wanted to have her for himself. Everybody would look at her and would want her.

“He’ll like it and he’ll hate it”, he answered, “because looking at you will make his blood boil and that’s not something he’s comfortable with.”

“Do I make your blood boil, Bishop?”, she looked him straight into his eyes.

“You’d make any real man’s blood boil”, he replied. How could it not? His heart was racing in his chest just looking at her. The thought of getting her out of that dress made him hot with desire.

A smile spread on her face. “But you wouldn’t be flustered holding me close on the dance floor?”

“Flustered?”, the ranger shook his head, “No. Thrilled? Yes. Excited? Yes, without a doubt. Would I lose control? Not a chance. Does that satisfy your curiosity, princess?”

She nodded, giving him a strange look, he couldn’t quite place: “Yes, am I being too forward?”

“Oh my dear, you can be forward with me anytime”, he smirked, “But your knight in shining armor awaits. I’ll see you later.”


	38. Grand Crystal Ball

Ylva was slowly walking towards the gates where she was to meet with the paladin. Despite everything she had told the ranger, she felt nervous. Even though some would say that she was from one of the noblest of bloodlines in Skyrim, her family never had cared for nobility. They were Companions and didn’t care for politics and dances. But that meant that Ylva was utterly unprepared for what was to come. Her aunt wasn’t wrong, she couldn’t dance and never had learned it. Trusting her ear for rhythm she hoped for the best.

“Furball, is that you?”, a voice brought her back from her thoughts. Her aunt just came down from the Castle.

“Hello Auntie, I was wondering when you’d come”, Ylva stopped to hug her aunt.

“Almost didn’t recognize you”, her aunt admired her dress, “You look like a princess!”

“Thanks, Auntie”, she smiled, “But I didn’t ask you to come to see me dolled up.”

“Yeah, I got your message this morning but couldn’t come straight away. What did you want to talk about?”, Legate Rikke asked.

Ylva looked around and then dragged her aunt behind the Winking Skeever to the spot where she had overheard the paladin and the ranger this morning.

“Do you think that Elenwen or any Thalmor have gotten wind of me being the Dragonborn?”, Ylva whispered, “I will be at the Embassy tomorrow and I don’t think it would help my health if they knew.”

“I doubt it. I haven’t spoken with anyone about you since you told me”, Rikke answered, “But word has reached that you have been named the new Harbinger, a courier arrived from Dragonsreach this morning.”

“Jarl Balgruuf sure was fast. Let’s just hope that he kept quiet about the Dragonborn business in his letter”, she was a little worried since the Jarl was really proud that the Dragonborn was someone from his city.

“What exactly are you doing there at the Embassy tomorrow anyway?”, her aunt asked.

“I’d rather not tell you, I don’t want you to get into trouble”, Ylva admitted, “But I doubt I will be coming close to Solitude for a while again.”

“All right”, Rikke nodded, “Then I’d better go back. I might need your help in the future, so you better get back in one piece. I don’t trust those Thalmor, be careful.”

She reassuringly pressed the Legate’s hand. “I will.”

 

Still thinking of her aunt, she went to the gates. The sun was just setting and there was no sight of the paladin yet. Sighing she thought of Bishop. She hated not to have him at her side, it felt as if a part of her was missing. Nervously she was wringing her hands as she looked around for the paladin. Finally, she saw the black-haired warrior approach.

“You look stunning this evening!”, the paladin bowed, taking her hand, placing a kiss on it, “I fear to gaze at you, that I may lose myself.”

She curtseyed, trying her best to not make a fool out of herself.

“You’re not half bad looking yourself”, she admitted, appreciating the fine waistcoat and silk shirt he was wearing. He cleaned up rather well, she could imagine a lot of women would find him irresistible. Not her though, her heart had already been stolen by a certain ranger.

“Thank you, my lady”, the paladin smiled and bowed again.

“I’m ready to attend the Ball”, she replied.

Casavir got up and chuckled nervously. Ylva smiled as a blush rose in his cheeks. _This guy is clearly not used to being around women,_ she thought to herself. She got the impression that he was more nervous than she was herself. Remembering what her father tried to teach her about protocol she looped her arm through his. The paladin was trembling slightly when they began walking towards the Blue Palace.

 

A small crowd had gathered in the Palace courtyard and as they arrived, several heads turned their way. The shop owner had been right, most of the women she saw standing there were wearing a ball gown with a tight corset and a hoop skirt. She felt that she was sticking out like a Stormcloak at an Imperial camp. _By the gods, what am I doing here?,_ she wondered. This evening could only lead to disaster.

“Shall we go in?”, the deep rumble of Casavir’s voice caught her attention. She nodded, smiling to hide her insecurity.

“One thing I have to tell you, though”, she leaned closer to him, “Please don’t address me with ‘Dragonborn’. I don’t want anybody to know.”

“Oh?”, the paladin nervously cleared his throat, “If that is your wish, my lady.”

Ylva got the feeling that she had caught the paladin red-handed. _Oh boy, he hadn’t announced that he’d have the Dragonborn accompany him, had he? ,_ she thought and panic made her gut clench.

They entered the building and for a moment Ylva was left speechless. The ballroom was gigantic, one of the largest rooms she had ever walked into. It was covered in white stone and gold and huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the blue crystals reflecting the light of the hundreds of candles.

As the door closed behind them a lot of heads turned to look at the newcomers. Ylva felt exposed but forced herself to stand upright and confident. She was not some shy little girl, she was the Harbinger now, her word would be respected from Jarls and even the High King or Queen once the Moot had elected a new one.  

One man standing close to the stairs to the dance floor gathered his breath.

“Sir Casavir and the one and only D..”, the man announced, clearly excited to tell everyone who had just arrived. Before he could finish, Casavir was by his side, his powerful grip on the other man’s arm effectively silencing him. Ylva had been frozen in shock. The paladin _had_ told with whom he meant to attend the ball. Just _great._ Praying silently, she hoped that he only had told a few people and not everyone he had met that day.

“My dear lady”, the announcer bowed courteously, a drop of sweat on his forehead as the paladin let go of his arm, “As I’ve just been informed there has been a misunderstanding with the guest list. Would you be so kind as to give me your name?”

“Ylva of Twice-Named-Clan, Harbinger of the Companions”, she quickly replied.

The man nodded and announced her title and name to the guests. The paladin returned to her side, offering his arm.

“I guess I should have told you sooner that I don’t like people knowing my little secret”, Ylva remarked as they walked down the stairs.

“Oh no, my lady. On the contrary, I have to apologize for being disrespectful of your need of discretion”, he replied, “Of course you’d not want to draw unwanted attention to the burden of your blood.”

“Who else have you told who I am?”, she carefully observed his face.

“Only the host. But I told the announcer that there has been a mistake”, he explained.

“Well, I hope word hasn’t gotten around”, she believed him, but there was still a possibility for disaster.

“I would be devastated if my foolishness would cause you any harm”, the paladin seemed really worried.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore”, she quickly thought of something to change the subject, “I want to know more about you.”

“Well…being a holy knight I must maintain my vows, constantly upholding the cause of virtue and light.”

“That sounds exhausting”, she admitted, “What vows would that be?”

“I must pray to keep a pure life dedicated to honor and justice. I must never succumb to worldly temptations”, the paladin continued.

“So you can never become intimate with a woman?”, having just discovered the pleasures of that herself she couldn’t imagine a life without that.

Casavir remained silent but a scarlet blush rose in his cheeks. A few people noticed and started gossiping. With her fine senses, Ylva noticed them straight away. Good, if people gossiped about her it meant that they took notice of her which was exactly why she had come for.

“You’re blushing, Casavir”, she pointed out, ignoring the glances they were attracting.

“That I am, I must apologize my lady”, they arrived at the dance floor and he gracefully bowed again, offering her his hand, “May I have this first dance?”

“You may”, she put her hand in his, her heart beating in her chest as he led her to the center of the dance floor.

 Trusting in his lead and her sense of rhythm she began to move with the music. To her own surprise, she wasn’t as clumsy as she had feared. Casavir was an excellent dancer and whirled her around without a problem. She was actually beginning to enjoy herself.

“Everyone is watching you”, Casavir remarked, “You are the star of the evening.”

“They’re probably gossiping that I’m not wearing the latest fashion”, she jokingly replied.

“You look beautiful. I don’t think they are gossiping”, he whirled her around again, “I feel blessed that I have the honor of dancing with you.”

“Why thank you, Casavir”, she felt flattered, though she was still careful, Bishop’s warning always on her mind.

The music ended and they came to stand next to the left side of the dance floor.

“Would you care for some refreshments, my lady?”, the paladin asked.

“That would be nice”, Ylva let him guide her towards a table with some pastries. A waiter with a tray of wine glasses passed them and Casavir offered her a glass without taking one for himself.

“You don’t want anything?” she carefully sniffed the whine, just in case there might be something in it.

“My vows forbid me to partake in any drinking that would impair my senses”, the paladin explained, “But I do wish for you to enjoy yourself.”

“If your vows forbid you to do much, why take them in the first place?”, she couldn’t understand how someone could willingly restrict oneself so much, “I mean, as a Companion you’d also serve the people but you’d still be allowed to drink and be with whomever you wanted to be. As a Vigilant of Stendarr, you’d also be allowed to drink as far as I know. Then why choose this fate?”

“I want to protect the light in this world, though I must admit that looking at you I feel slight regret of ever taking my vows”, he winked at her.

Not sure what to make of this she took a sip from the whine but then put down the glass. The wine wasn’t particularly good and she wasn’t in a mood to drink anyway.

“Shall we dance a little more?”, she asked, hoping to catch more attention from the other guests.

“If my lady wishes to, I’ll gladly oblige”, he was smiling and his dark blue eyes were sparkling.

It felt strange, being treated that way. Ylva wasn’t used to gentlemen like behavior, with someone treating her like a delicate object. She was a warrior with more scars she cared to count. There was nothing delicate about her, that much she knew.

While the paladin whirled her around and the music guided her steps, she looked around the room. What the paladin said seemed to be true, there were a lot of eyes on them as they danced. Good, all going according to plan. With all the talk about them, her appearance at Thalmor Embassy would seem a little less suspicious.

Suddenly the music changed to something faster and Casavir pulled her closer to him. She could feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of her dress. The dance was a little wilder and quite popular as the dance floor soon was filled with other dancers. The paladin, being the skilled dancer that he was, always found a free spot among the many people. Again, Ylva was glad she hadn’t chosen a different dress. The quick rhythm of the music made it harder for her feet to follow the paladin’s quick pace.

The inevitable happened. During a wild turn, she stumbled over her own feet and tumbled towards the paladin, crashing into him. He caught her by the shoulders, just in time so that she wouldn’t fall flat on her face, carefully steading her. Cursing her own clumsiness, she looked up. The deep pools of his eyes had become even darker and his face was a little flushed from all the turning. Or was it just the dancing that had gotten him so excited? The paladin swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on her neckline, where the blue ink poked out, teasingly hinting at the beautiful pattern hidden under the fabric of the dress.

“Casavir? What’s wrong?”, she whispered.

He didn’t respond but she could see that he was struggling to contain himself. Some people had already turned their way. _Come on, that’s not a good timing!_ she pleaded with her eyes. Bishop had warned her that she might be too much temptation for the paladin and he seemed to be dead right about it. Casavir clearly meant to kiss her, the close dancing having roused something in him. She couldn’t let that happen, but slapping him to get him to return to his senses wasn’t an option either. She wanted to attract attention, but not with disrespecting the honored guest at the Ball. But the paladin seemed to not care for protocol or virtue anymore. He licked his lips and the grip on her arms got stronger. Instinctively her gut hardened and her hand prepared to knock out the paladin, her fingers clenching into a fist.

Before she had to punch the paladin, a murmur went through the crowd as a late arrival stood at the top of the stairs, loudly clearing his throat. For a moment she couldn’t believe her eyes. Was that really Bishop up there? His eyes met hers and a broad grin spread over his face.

“I’m here, darling, don’t mind if I cut in do you?”, he casually walked down the stairs to meet them and theatrically bowed, offering her his hand, “May I have this dance?”

“Bishop! What are you doing here?”, shocked out of his inner struggle the paladin glared at the ranger as if he’d like to strangle him.

“Why, I’m here to rescue a flustering, little boy from himself”, Bishop took Ylva’s hand and pulled her close, “Now, get lost, Casavir. She’s mine tonight.”

 “Mhmm”, his mouth was suddenly close to her ear, “I must say you look quite sexy tonight. All that armor you usually wear covers up the best parts.”

“Bishop?!”, she was still too baffled to react properly. She turned to see his face. His lips parted into a devilish, victorious smile.

“Bishop, keep your hands off her!”, the paladin’s face was white with anger as he reached for the other’s shoulder, clearly intending to get him away from Ylva.  

Reacting quickly the ranger swirled them around, evading the paladin’s attempt to snatch her back. To her surprise, the ranger then was leading her into a waltz. She had expected him to be good at a lot of things, dancing had not been one of them. He wasn’t as good as the paladin, not as easily finding a free spot to dance. But she felt a lot more confident with him there.

“I didn’t think you would find a way into the Ball”, she admitted as she pressed herself against him enjoying both his warmth and familiar smell.

“These clothes feel like they are strangling me”, he remarked. The ranger was clad in a black waistcoat with a white silk shirt. The waistcoat matched her dress perfectly.

“After how mad you made Casavir you almost were strangled”, she chuckled.

“Ha! I would have taught that self-righteous knight a lesson!”, he whirled her around, finding them a new free spot, “Standing up for your honor when you can do it yourself. You don’t need him to defend you. You’ve got along just fine without him.”

“Why are you here, Bishop, dressed up and all?”, Ylva was happy to have him by her side, but she got the feeling it was more to boost his own ego than for anything else. And how on Nirn had he come up with the money to pay for the waistcoat? She had cleared his pockets the day before playing cards with him.

“I couldn’t help it”, he admitted, “The thought of you in that guy's arms made me sick. And somehow, I could convince the guards that I was part of your entourage, but only after I had the “proper attire” or whatever the hell they were going on about!”

“It’s kind of sweet how you went through all that trouble”, she admitted, a warm fuzzy feeling in her gut.

“It’s not fair if you get to have all the fun”, he winked at her.

“Unhand her at once!”, the paladin had caught up with them.

Bishop grabbed her hand possessively, his eyes burned with desire as he pulled her close.

“Do you wish me to cut this wild animal’s head of, my lady?”, the paladin’s eyes never left the ranger, “It would be my pleasure.”

“No, Casavir”, she warned him, “If you take one step closer to Bishop it’s your head that will be rolling. And now shush it, you two.”

Ylva dragged both of them to the side and away from the glances of the crowd. She was done with the men fighting over her like she didn’t have a will of her own. And while she had wanted to get people to talk about her so that her cover would improve, this was too much. She only let go of the two men when she had dragged them to the side in one of the niches made for resting. The paladin dropped down to one knee immediately.

“Forgive me, my lady”, he seemed truly distraught, “My lady I have overstepped myself, I must profusely apologize. Please forgive me.”

“You’re a fool, Casavir”, she shook her head. He had a _long_ way ahead of him if he wanted to continue on the path of righteousness, light, and virtue.

“That I am”, he chuckled, “I must apologize, my lady.”

“Get up”, she was done with the whole situation and only wished to leave, “I will leave now.”

“My fair lady, I find myself becoming concerned and I worry about your current choice of companion”, the paladin eyed Bishop with mistrust.

“Casavir you don’t understand”, Ylva shook her head.

“He is dangerous”, the paladin snapped, “I have known many men like him: they only care about their selfish gain. They only leave chaos and destruction in their wake. I am…worried that he might be corrupting you.”

“You don’t know me, Casavir”, she crossed her arms, “And it seems you don’t know Bishop at all either.”

“You are a good woman, my lady, you are a light in the dark world”, he hesitated before he continued, “A light I find myself drawn to.”

“Oh a ‘light’ you say”, she rolled her eyes, “If only you knew how wrong you are…”

“Excuse me. Perhaps I have…let my feelings cloud my judgment. I only wish to warn you”, his voice rang true with concern, “I cannot force you to leave him, but whatever you choose, know that I am here. I will protect you with my very last breath.”

“You think I’m a delicate woman in need of protection?”, she snapped at him, “I’ve been raised a warrior and have been fighting and training my whole life. I’ve looked death in the eyes more times than I care to count. Don’t insult me.”

Turning her back to him she called for the ranger, “Bishop, we’re leaving.”

 

Bishop could sense her anger as they were leaving the ball. Still, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly good. Not only had he had a chance to make the paladin look like a fool but Ylva had dealt the other one a mortal blow to his ego. It was strangely satisfying to see the paladin get a verbal punch in the gut. Maybe that would finally bring him down from his high horse, to see that he was not that ‘saint’ he wanted to be. Stealing glances at Ylva he had to admit that the paladin wasn’t completely off with his judgment though. She was a light in the dark world, shining brighter than the sun and the smile she gave him when he had come down the stairs for her was like the spark that ignited a blazing fire. How he could get so lucky to have her smile at him like that was beyond him.

All the men in the room had thrown him envious glances as they danced, Ylva pressed tight against him as they whirled around. Could he blame them? No, certainly not. She was a sight to behold, her dress only enhancing her natural beauty. Even now in the moonlight, the silver of her dress glistened together with the golden glow of her skin. For a moment he felt sad that they hadn’t stayed a little longer, that he didn’t get the chance to dance some more with her. But he understood her need to get out of the limelight. She had been nervous the whole day even though she would never admit it. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable trying to fit into the world of nobles and politics, preferring a battlefield to a ballroom any day.

He reminded himself that this had only been a test for tomorrow. Today the worst thing that could have happened was that Ylva made a fool out of herself. Tomorrow a mistake could get her killed. The thought alone let a shiver run down his spine. He still had no clue how to get inside the Embassy but that wouldn’t stop him from trying. He would never forgive himself nor that crazy innkeeper if something were to happen to her just because she was on her own.

 

They finally arrived at the inn and retreated to their room where Karnwyr was more than happy to see them.

“I’m sorry you had to wait here, pack brother”, Ylva bent down to pat the wolf’s head, “Tomorrow we will leave this city behind us.”

“I bet he’s not the only one happy to leave”, Bishop observed. They were all growing more restless with each day they stayed here. Despite the danger they were going to face, the risk they meant to take, leaving the city felt like escaping from a prison. They weren’t made for a peaceful life behind the bars of the city gates; they were wild animals that needed their freedom.

Ylva got up and started to pull out the pins holding up her locks. One lock after the other fell down on her shoulders. Mesmerized by the uncurling, Bishop came closer, his fingers twirling a strand of hair.

“You need some help with that?”, he asked her, his voice a low rumble.

“Yes”, she answered softly as she withdrew her hands.

The ranger gently pulled out one pin after the other. Each time a lock sprang free he unfurled it, running his fingers through her auburn hair. Soon all the pins lay scattered on the floor but he continued to run his fingers through her hair, enjoying the silky and smooth feeling of it. Ylva visibly relaxed, the tension finally leaving her body.

His hands left her hair and moved on to the neck, his thumbs gently pressing into her muscles. In circles, he began to work out the knots but the neckline of the dress came in the way.

“How about I get you out of this dress, princess?”, his lips were close to her ear and he could see that she was shivering with delight.

“That would be great”, she brushed her hair to the side, revealing the clasp holding her neckline in place.

With skilled fingers he opened the clasp, revealing her beautiful back. She had a nasty scar just below her right shoulder blade and some freckles covered her beautiful cinnamon skin. His hands traced the muscles connecting her neck to her shoulders, gently moving to her front. She stood still, barely daring to breathe, her eyes closed as she concentrated on his touch. Smiling, he brought his lips to the side of her neck, laying down a trail of gentle kisses from below her ear down to her chin. Ylva moaned quietly as his hands opened the belt holding the dress on her body. With the last restraint removed, the dress glided down her smooth skin. As he had suspected, she had worn nothing underneath it.

“You seductress”, he gently nibbled on her earlobe, “No wonder you drove half of the men crazy at the Ball.”

“I could hardly wear my shirt under that, could I?”, she leaned back at him, her butt pressing against his loins.

“No, you couldn’t”, he admitted. His fingers followed the tattooed pattern down to her nipples. When he playfully pinched them, she gasped. The small buds hardened under his touch and she pressed herself even harder against him, her cheek touching his own when she threw back her head.

She radiated a heat as if a fire was burning within her. The flame was contagious and while he rolled her buds between his fingertips, her soft moans in his ear, he felt himself light up like fire. One hand left her breasts and traveled down, circling her navel and finally finding that patch of curly deep red hair that guarded her entrance. Teasingly biting her ear, he let a finger enter her. Moaning loudly one of her hands grabbed his short hair.

“You’re all wet down there”, he teased, slowly letting his finger slide out of her wetness, messaging the small pleasure bud.

“Stop teasing me”, she gasped.

“Oh?”, he removed his hands completely, “You want me to stop?”

Her passion was a burning fire when she turned around, hazel eyes almost brown with desire. She tugged on his hair, pulling him into a kiss. Her tongue darted into his mouth, challenging his own for a duel. Letting go of his hair she began to peal him out of his formal attire. Wherever her fingers found skin they left burning marks. When her hand brushed his loin, he groaned. His member was already hard and twitching with excitement. She smiled into their kiss as her fingers returned, massaging his cock through the layers of fabric. Gosh, this woman knew how to handle a sword. She pulled down his pants, making his erection spring into her ready hands.

He let her tease him for as long as he could bear. When he came close he grabbed her arms and turned her around, letting his twitching member glide between her legs but not entering her. He moved, enjoying the silky feeling of her skin on his cock. Her juices were flowing and he felt them coating his throbbing cock. She moaned loudly now, wringing in his grasp, begging him to enter her. It was torture for them both but he wanted to make her beg for him even more, wanting her sweet voice ask for it. Ylva was trembling, her hips moving in a way that made him almost lose control.

Finally, she moaned: “Please, Bishop, I want you!”

“You want me huh?”, he grinned victoriously.

“Oh yes”, she pleaded, “Please give it to me.”

“What do you want?”, he wanted to tease her more, his voice a low growl. His pace quickened, rubbing her clit even more as he did so.

Moaning in frustration she threw her head back, her fiery tresses tickling his face. The ranger continued. He wanted her to say it.

“Fuck me, Bishop!”, she moaned, “Gods damn it, fuck me!”

“Whatever my lady commands!”, he pushed her forward, forcing her to hold on to the bedposts. With hot burning desire, he thrust into her, making her yelp.

Her hot wetness embraced him, holding on to him tightly as he withdrew for the next thrust. She was already close from all the teasing and he didn’t think he’d last long at this pace. With every thrust she sucked him in, daring him to thrust deeper and harder. 

Ylva was trembling so badly he feared that she might collapse. They both got down to their knees, their union unbroken. He was pounding into her forcefully by now, lost to his own desire. She was loudly moaning, matching his rhythm moving her hips to meet his thrusts. By now Bishop was groaning loudly himself, trying his best to hold back, his member twitching almost painfully.

Finally, he felt her spasm around him and she screamed as the orgasm hit her. With her pussy milking his cock he couldn’t contain himself and he unleashed inside her, his nails digging into her hips. He groaned loudly as the orgasm shuddered through him. His mind was a foggy mess when he finally let go of her, breathing heavily.


	39. Crashing a Party

A cold wind was blowing as the carriage moved through the gate. Ylva looked up at the building wondering for the 100th time what on earth she was doing here. Was she really going to find the information she needed or was she just walking into a death trap? To calm herself she closed her eyes and deeply breathed in and out. She could do this, all she needed was to find Malborn and get it over with. Once she had her gear back, there was nothing stopping her. The carriage came to a halt and she got down.

“Ah! A fellow latecomer to Elenwen's little soiree. And arriving by carriage, no less!”, a voice from her right startled her.

Looking around she found a Redguard coming towards her.

“I salute you my dear lady”, he theatrically bowed, “My lateness is due more to getting lost on the way up this gods-forsaken mountain than to any desire to actually arrive late. I prefer to arrive early. Often the day before the party. So as not to miss out on any of the drinking. There's not enough drinking in the world today, wouldn't you agree?”

The Redguard had the bloodshot eyes and greyish hue to his skin of a heavy drinker. That she met two drunks from Hammerfell within less than four days was ironic. Maybe he knew the captain or had arrived on the pirate’s ship? Either way, his arrival put her at ease. If there was a drunk making a scene it was less likely that people would take notice of her.

“My good sir, shall we get inside then? The cold winds of Skyrim’s mountains surely are less welcoming than the company we are seeking here”, she motioned up the stairs to the entrance of the Thalmor Embassy.

“I will just…rest here a moment”, he replied, “Although it is damnable cold out here. I don't look forward to the trip back down”.

He eyed the carriage she arrived with and his eyes lit up when they returned to her: “Perhaps we might share a carriage after the party? I know, I know - we've just met. But think, by the time the party is over we'll no doubt be fast friends. I look forward to it. I'll go after you. Although these fellows know me. I never miss one of Elenwen's parties, you see.”

She shook her head and turned to the building. A Thalmor guard was already approaching her as she came close to the steps.

“Welcome to the Thalmor Embassy. Your invitation, please”, the guard addressed her with a neutral tone.

Her fingers fished the letter out of a pocket in her garment that Delphine had provided her with. Much to her relieve the Blade had not chosen a dress, but a waistcoat made of fine wool. It was something a rich merchant would wear rather than the dress of a noble, but it would do for her. A dress would have gone in the way if she had to run or sneak.

 

“Here you go”, she gave the letter to the guard, patiently waiting for the Altmer to confirm that she was indeed on the guest list.

“Thank you, ma’am”, the Altmer gave her back the envelope and moved to the side, “Go right in.”

Ylva went up the stairs to the heavy doors that guarded the Thalmor headquarters form the harsh weather of the Haafingar Mountains.   _Here goes nothing,_ she thought as she opened the door, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

A gust of wind pushed her forward into a small hallway that opened up to a larger room. Alarmed by the sudden gust of wind a tall Altmer turned towards her. With the little light the small windows and light of the candles provided, Ylva couldn’t make out much of the other woman’s face but the sharp jaw and almond eyes. It was the eyes that she noticed first, intelligent, cold and calculating they were. Ylva couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen them somewhere before but desperately hoped it was not so.

 “Welcome”, the Altmer approached her with a smile that didn’t reach the eyes, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are?”

“You’re Elenwen?”, Ylva let awe swing in her voice, “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Have you?”, the Altmer let her gaze wander over her a second time, “All good I trust. But you have me at a disadvantage. I’m afraid I know nothing about you…Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this…”

For a short moment, disgust crossed the Altmer’s features before they settled back into a smile, “…to Skyrim?”

“Ylva of the Twice-Named Clan”, she introduced herself, “And I wasn’t brought here, this is where I was born.”

“Twice-Named? An unusual name, even for a Nord”, the Altmer observed.

“It’s tradition to take on that name in our family”, Ylva replied, “My father’s name might be more known to you maybe? Haldor Shield-Breaker he was called, Captain of the Imperial Legion.”

“That name does ring a bell”, Elenwen nodded, “So you’re the Captains daughter? Interesting.”

There was a spark in the other woman’s eyes that Ylva couldn’t quite place. Before the Altmer could continue, she was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Madame Ambassador, I’m so sorry to interrupt…”, Malborn was leaning over the counter of a bar to the right side of the room.

Making a disapproving sound the Altmer turned towards him: “What is it, Malborn?”

“It’s just that we’ve run out of the Alto wine”, the Bosmer grew visibly nervous under her gaze, “Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red…?”

“Of course!”, her tone implied that she was really annoyed by his comment, “I’ve told you before not to bother me with such trifles.”

“Yes, Madame Ambassador”, Malborn bowed his head like a kid being scolded by their parent.

The Altmer turned back to her: “My apologies. We’ll have to get better acquainted later. Please, enjoy yourself.”

Relief washed over Ylva as Elenwen turned her back to her. That had gone over better than she had hoped. Still, she needed to be careful, there was still too much that could go wrong. Malborn was staring at her, a nervous smile on his face. Delphine’s judgment of him seemed to hold true: He was not made for a high-risk mission as this was. She came closer to the bar but let her gaze wander over the people present. Maven Black-Briar was there as well as that ass of a Jarl Siddgeir. Vittoria Vicci was there as was Erikur, both wealthy merchants in Solitude. That the Emperor's cousin was meddling with the Thalmor surprised her and she asked herself if the Emperor knew anything about it.

Suddenly another familiar face turned and she froze. What in Talos’ name was Proventus Avenicci doing here? Their eyes briefly met but the Imperial didn’t seem to recognize her. She _was_ dressed differently and the low light would make recognizing her warpaint almost impossible if not standing face to face. She would need to talk to Irileth about this the next time she visited Dragonsreach. A steward making deals with the Thalmor wasn’t something the Jarl would want. Before his gaze could return she turned around, finally facing the Bosmer.

“You there”, she addressed him, careful not to address him by his name, “I need a drink.”

“Of course,” the Bosmer nodded, “What can I get for you?”

“You mentioned an Arenthia red?”, with half an ear she was making sure that the other guests were too deep into the conversation to notice them before she leaned closer, “I hope you got my stuff here as you promised.”

“Yes. As soon as you distract the guards, I’ll open this door and we can get you on your way”, he whispered back.

“Leaving right after I arrived would be foolish”, she replied, “But let me see what I can do to cause a distraction.”

Ylva took the offered glass of wine and turned around, looking from one person to the next. _So, who should I talk to first?_  

 

Bishop’s fingers were growing numb from the cold and he pulled his fur cloak firmer around his body. Just how long was Ylva going to take until she finally would show up? At least an hour had passed since she had disappeared inside the Embassy. Every passing moment he grew more restless. Had she already recovered her gear? Or was she still just trying to blend in while looking for a chance to go?

Or had she walked into the trap, the Thalmor already aware of who and what she was? Cursing he rubbed his hands together, fear twisting his gut. When they had met Delphine at the stables he had again begged Ylva not to do this, but being the thick-headed woman she was, she insisted to go anyway. And now she was in there alone, without him to help her. Lucky for them there had been a snowstorm and one of the trees was bending heavily towards the building. Maybe he could jump from one of the higher branches into the courtyard? He had hoped that the guards may get inside the buildings to warm up at some point, but the damned Altmer seemed to not feel the cold. Not one of them strayed from their patrol. Damn it, how could they endure the cold while his fingers were icicles?

 

 _Hopefully Bishops all right,_ Ylva thought to herself as she sipped on her glass of wine. She had managed to evade Avenicci and had engaged Erikur in a conversation about the impact the war had on his business. By now she had figured out that Erikur was just as self-centered as Jarl Siddgeir, claiming that he basically owned Solitude by now. The East Empire Company would see that a little different she’d expect. Sighing she stole glances at the other guests. How could she cause a distraction without it leading back to her?

Suddenly she felt the presence of another person approach her. She recognized the smell and internally braced herself.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here”, Proventus said, “Lydia said you were busy taking care of some business.”

“I didn’t expect you to be here either, Proventus”, she turned towards the steward, “Does the Jarl know that you keep ties to the Thalmor?”

She knew that Balgruuf wasn’t on good terms with the Altmeri Dominion, even letting Heimskir continue preaching in the Wind District.

“The Jarl would understand, I am only keeping up the ties if we ever need them”, Proventus nervously sipped at his wine, “Though I confess, being surrounded by so many wealthy and important people makes me feel more than a little nervous. That still doesn’t explain why you, the Harbinger, makes her first appearance here? I must admit I was a little surprised to hear about your attendance at the Grand Christal Ball yesterday. Doesn’t the new Harbinger first pay his respect to the Jarl of Whiterun? But maybe even you are not above the hunger for fame?”

“Watch your tongue”, she leaned closer to him, “Remember who you are talking to. There is a reason behind all of this. And if you care for the dragon problem to be dealt with you keep your mouth shut and let me do my business.”

Most of the color drained from the steward’s face at her threatening tone and nodded.

“Don’t let me keep you”, he managed to reply.

She turned away and took shelter in a dark corner of the room, trying her best to keep her anger under control. How dare this pompous power-hungry twat insult her in that way? She would need to talk to Jarl Balgruuf and Irileth about it. They needed to be made aware that they had a potential Thalmor spy in their midst.

Trying to calm down something else tugged on her senses. Next to her, she could hear the muffled voices of Erikur and the Bosmer maid serving drinks.

“No, no, that’s not what I’m interested in right now”, the merchant said in a low voice, his speech slurred from the alcohol he had been downing, “I just wanted to get a better look at you. I like what I see, my dear. And believe me, I don’t say that to everyone. I’m very discriminating when it comes to the female form.”

 _What an ass,_ Ylva thought. She felt disgusted by the Nord’s rude behavior. But maybe she could use him as a distraction to get away?

“Um, thank you, sir”, the servant tried to get away from the merchant, “Was there anything else I could do for you?”

“Oh…not at the moment. Maybe later. Don’t go far”, Erikur’s tone didn’t leave any doubt what he intended to do.

“Yes, sir”, the Bosmer woman replied.

Sniffing her chance Ylva moved so that she got in the merchant’s way. Erikur almost stumbled into her, a surprised look on his face. When he recognized her from their previous chatter he chuckled.

“Did you see that serving girl? I hear elf women are insatiable..”, he grinned, his eyes gleaming hungrily.

“Maybe I can talk to her for you. See if she’s interested”, she offered, smiling friendly.

“Really?”, Erikur thought for a moment, “Yes, maybe that would be just the thing. She seemed to be playing hard to get when I spoke to her just now. Go on. See what she says. Now you’ve gone and gotten my hopes up again.”

Ylva turned away from the arrogant Nord and looked for the servant girl. She found her clenching on to a tray of goblets trying to stay away as far as possible from Erikur. When she noticed Ylva she put on a smile.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, ma’am”, she greeted her.

“I am”, Ylva smiled in return, already feeling sorry for what she planned to do next, “That fellow over there asked me to talk to you…”

“Ugh”, for a moment the friendly mask of the Bosmer fell, “Erikur, right? He was talking to me earlier. I could tell what he was after. I hate working these parties. Some of the guests are nice, but there’s always a few like Erikur.”

She sighed as she threw a glance at the merchant.

“Please tell him to leave me alone. Politely”, she pleaded, “I’m sure you’ll have better luck getting through to him than I would.”

“I see what I can do”, Ylva turned around, already feeling guilty. That servant seemed to be just an innocent bystander in all of this. But if she wanted to cause a scene to help her slip away there was nothing else she could do. Looking around for the merchant she saw him in deep conversation with Siddgeir. _Birds of feather flock together,_ she thought when she approached them.

“Sorry to interrupt”, she touched Erikur’s arm, “But I talked to the servant girl.”

“Oh, good”, he turned to her, “I’m not a patient man, you know.”

Pondering what she should answer she decided the truth would be enough to get him worked up: “Yes. She wants you to leave her alone.”

Her words had the desired effect. The Nord’s turned red with anger.

“What?”, he yelled, “That little tease! Leading me on and turning cold at the last minute. I don’t think so.”

Fuming with anger he stormed away. Ylva went to the table with refreshments to first see whether the distraction would be enough for her to leave unnoticed. From the corner of her eye, she saw that one of the Thalmor was walking towards her.

“So you think you can toy with me, is that it?”, Erikur’s voice thundered loud and clear through the room, “No, my dear. I have my heart set on you and I always get what I want.”

“I’m sorry sir, I didn’t mean to give you the wrong impression earlier. I meant no disrespect”, the Bosmer quickly replied.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let you make it up to me. Now, where can we go for a little privacy, hmm?”

“No, I’m sorry. But I can’t go anywhere with you, I won’t”, she insisted, “Please, I must get back to my work.”

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, you slut! Do you know who I am?”, his voice drew all the attention.

With relief, Ylva saw the Thalmor halt and turn around as well. Using the moment she used the shadow to move towards the bar and Malborn.

“Please sir, leave me alone”, the servant pleaded.

“Now you’re going to be sorry you crossed me”, Erikur looked around, “Elenwen! This servant girl has been throwing herself at me in a most disgusting manner.”

“Is that so, Erikur?”, the Thalmor’s voice was friendly but cold, “And you with such delicate sensibilities. It must have been most upsetting.”

Ylva reached Malborn just as Erikur demanded loudly: “I demand that you have this wench removed from my presence at once!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!”, Malborn whispered nervously, “Before anyone notices us.”

She hoped that the servant girl would be all right as they quickly slid through the door towards the kitchen. After the door had closed behind them, she allowed herself to relax a little. They could still hear the muffled voices from the other room, with the servant girl frantically trying to convince that she wasn’t to blame. Malborn turned to her as he placed the hand on the doorknob to the kitchen.

“Let me do the talking”, he said.

Nodding she followed him into the kitchen. A Khajit woman looked up from the food she was preparing, wrinkling her nose.

“Who comes, Malborn?”, she addressed the Bosmer, “You know I don’t like strange smells in my kitchen.”

“A guest, feeling ill. Leave the poor wretch be”, Malborn led her to another room.

“A guest? In the kitchens?”, the cat glared at them, “You know this is against the rules…”

“Rules, is it, Tsavani?”, Malborn turned around, “I didn’t realize that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador…”

“Tss!”, Tsavani hissed, “Get out of here, I saw nothing.”

When the door to the larder closed he turned to Ylva: “Your gear is in that chest. I’ll lock the door behind you. Don’t screw this up.”

Ylva opened the chest and was relieved to find that everything was there. The Bosmer had stayed true to his word. Ignoring him standing there, she quickly got out of the waistcoat and put on her armor. Feeling the familiar weight on her body she felt a lot safer. Now there was nothing stopping her. To not leave any traces behind she stuffed the waistcoat in her backpack.

“Thank you, Malborn”, she whispered.

“Quick!”, the Wood-elf was wringing his hands nervously, “I need to lock the door behind you, or the patrols might notice something’s wrong!”

“Best of luck to you”, she turned around, her axes already in her hands as she entered the hallway. With her armor and her weapons finally restored to her she finally felt restored to her self. _Now I’ll do this my way!_ She was not one for sneaking around and pretending to be someone she was not. She was a warrior and she would handle this her way.


	40. Bishop in Trouble

From the hallway, Ylva overheard two soldiers and readied herself for battle. So far, they haven’t seemed to notice her.

“Did you see those robes march in this morning? Who’re they with? More of the Emissary’s treaty enforcers?”

“No. They’re high mages, just in from Alinor. I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all the dragon attacks.”

“Did someone say ‘dragon attack’?”, she barged into the room, her axes ready and deadly.

Before they could react, she was already on them, warm blood splattering her face as she hacked the first one’s throat. The second guard was so taken by surprise that he didn’t even bring up his sword to protect himself when her other ax clearly cut off his head from his shoulders.

 _So much for the swordsmanship of elves,_ she thought as she moved onwards, not even looking back at the corpses. She knew that she had to move quickly to have the element of surprise on her side.

She found the door leading outside the building fairly easily.

“Who’s there?”, she heard a voice yelling.

Her axes were ready again as she charged forward, quickly jumping over several steps. Out of thin air, a frost atronach materialized right in front of her. Dodging its attack, she rolled to the side, trying to locate its caster. A mage stood in the middle of the courtyard connecting both buildings.

“Ah, Dragonborn, we have been waiting for you!”, the mage grinned cruelly.

Being addressed as such she halted.

“So, you’ve been expecting me”, she replied. Her senses told her that he wasn’t the only one present. Where were the other guards?

“Oh yes”, the mage continued, “And luckily we had some company.”

He stepped aside to reveal Bishop and her heart stopped for a moment. The ranger had a bloody nose and a deep cut over his left eye, blood dripping down his face. His right eye was wide open with shock. Two guards stood on either side of him, keeping his arms behind his back.

“Don’t come closer princess!”, he begged, his voice sounding chocked.

“This little brute had thought we would not notice him lurking about in the trees”, the mage’s voice was cruelly delighted, “It was a lovely surprise for us. Too bad he didn’t want to chat, but we knew you’d be close if your lover was present.”

“You bastards”, Ylva clenched her teeth, bloodlust filling her mind. She wanted to tear them to shreds, limb from limb.

“Now, now, you wouldn’t want to endanger your lover’s life, would you?”, the mage grinned cruelly as one of the guards held a knife to Bishop’s throat, his own hunting knife no less.

“What do you want?”, Ylva spat.

“You of course!”, the mage waved at her, “We want to get to the bottom of this dragon problem and what better way then to examine the one and only Dragonborn herself?”

“Sorry to break it to you”, she let her axes whirl in her hands, “But you won’t find anything of interest.”

Her Thu’um was ready, the mage was not. “IIZ!”

A wave of ice hit the wizard making him momentarily freeze, much to the surprise of the unprepared guards. Ylva didn’t hesitate. “WHULD!”

Within the blink of an eye, she was on them, tackling the guard with the knife to Bishop’s throat. His blood splattered over her face and Bishop’s when she chopped his head off. The other guard let go of the ranger and tried to stab her with his sword. The blade was aimed for her arm, but her armor protected her. Smiling with grim satisfaction she let her ax swing again, crushing his breastplate and breaking open his chest. The scent of blood flooded her senses and it was difficult to tell whether there were more.

“Are there more?”, she asked the ranger as she cut his hands loose that had been bound behind his back.

“Behind you!”, he blurted.

The wizard had recovered and was reading a spell. She bit down hard as the lightning spell hit her as she shielded the ranger. By the gods, she hated wizards.

“FUZ RO DAH!”, she managed to shout. The wizard was thrown into the air, as was another suddenly appearing in the yard.

She quickly fumbled with her pouches and gave Bishop a potion for regeneration before she took the ax still sticking out of the dead guard’s chest.

“You will _regret_ hurting him”, she growled.

The mage regained his footing, sparks engulfing his hands. Again, lighting covered her, making her jaw clench as the spasms ran through her body. Still, she kept going. The other mage came to his kinsman’s aid, engulfing her with ice. She knew she needed another moment until she could shout again. Until then she had to get closer. Her strength seemed to be drained by the lightning spell as she continued. But she knew from experience that the mages’ Magicka had to run out sometime soon, should they continue casting their spells.

Suddenly the other mage collapsed. A quick look revealed a black arrow with red feathers pocking out from his neck. Bishop must have regained his bow. At that moment she felt her breath ready again, the dragon souls within her fueling her.

“SU!”

Her movement was too quick for the Altmer and with a surprised look, he collapsed, his guts spilling into the sparkling white snow, making the frost atronach collapse as well. Ylva looked around but she didn’t sense any more enemies nearby.

“Bishop!”, she rushed back to him, her heart beating wildly in her chest. The ranger looked better, the potion already working. She removed her helmet so that she could better look at him.

“You stupid woman!”, he seized her, hugging her close, “You almost got us both killed!”

Before she could protest he silenced her with a kiss. It was a kiss full of desperate passion, of pent-up fear and the joy of being alive. What had the Thalmor bastards done to him in the short time she had been away? What had they told him? She pressed herself closer to him, her hands reaching into his short and unruly hair. Her heart was beating so wild it felt as if it was about to burst. Her lips tasted blood, but their faces were smeared with the blood of their foes as well as their own so there was no telling who it belonged to.

Bishop pulled back to get some air. His amber eyes were a mix of emotions, fear, anger, happiness, desire, maybe even love. She let her finger trace over the cut already starting to heal. His throat showed red marks of being strangled and his nose had been broken. He would need more than just a potion to take care of all the pain.

“I’m sorry for taking so long”, she blurted, feeling tears well up. If she had gotten away sooner he wouldn’t have been hurt so badly.

“It’s not your fault”, he whispered, “But that’s the last time we split up!”

She laughed, even though a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Yeah, I want you by my side, too” she replied.

She kissed him again, her hands gently cupping his cheeks.

“Where is Karnwyr?”, she suddenly asked, her eyes popping open wide with fear.

“Down by the horses”, the ranger replied, leaning his head against hers, “I don’t think the Thalmor asses have found them yet.”

“Good”, she breathed relieved, “But we can’t linger here. We need to get this done.”

She rummaged through her pouches bringing up two vials and a cloth. Quickly taking some snow and the cloth she wiped the ranger’s face clean and tended the cut, his nose, and the bruised skin of this throat.

“Have they hurt you anywhere else?”, she asked, looking him over critically.

“No, they only had been going at me for 10 minutes or so before you arrived”, he replied.

“Ok. But still, drink this one”, she gave him the half-empty vail.

Nodding he put the small glass bottle to his lips, downing it with one gulp. She uncorked her own bottle and thirstily drank it. The fight with the mages had taken a lot out of her but with the effects of the potion, she already felt her strength returning.

“Let’s get to it then”, she turned towards the smaller building that she knew held Elenwen’s office.

“Wait, princess”, he pulled out her amulet of Talos, “Don’t you want this back first?”

Her face lit up as she saw the amulet. Afraid of what Delphine would have done with it she had given it to Bishop for safekeeping. She pulled her hair to the side, letting Bishop put it around her neck. With the familiar weight and its cool feeling restored she felt reassured. _Talos, please protect us,_ she prayed silently. When she turned around to him, he nodded and gestured to the door.

They pushed open the door and entered. There were voices coming from some room to the left.

“But, I need that money! I earned it!”

Straight across them stood a guard, the back turned to them. Gesturing to Bishop, she went to the left, moving out of his way. He drew back his bow and fired a deadly shot into the Altmer’s exposed neck. Ylva moved closer to the small office she could hear the voices coming from.

“Do not presume, Gissur”, the arrogant voice of an Altmer replied, “You are most useful, but do not presume. We have other informants who are less…offensive.”

“But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they?”

As she came closer she saw a Nord and a Thalmor Justiciar arguing. The Thalmor saw her first.

“Who are…?”, he looked confused but quickly got up.

He put up a ward spell but that only saved him from getting hit by the blood spatters as she hacked down the Nord storming towards her with a dagger in his hand.

“Gods, no!”, the mage was reading a spell but one of Bishop’s arrows hit him in the shoulder, making him lose focus.

Ylva was already next to him, her ax digging deep into the Altmer’s stomach. When she pulled her weapon free, fresh blood splattered on the floor together with the Thalmor’s guts.

“That was the last on this floor”, the ranger observed.

“Good, we need to search the office if there’s anything on dragons there”, she replied.

They found the office easily enough.

“I’ll check the chest, you look at the drawers”, she remarked as she already started working on the lock. Much to her surprise, it sprang open without much fuss. Inside she found a number of dossiers and a small letter as well as a key.

“Strange”, she muttered, “Why wouldn’t they lock it?”

“They probably never thought of people actually managing to get so far”, the ranger remarked, “What does that letter say?”

Ylva opened it and quickly skimmed over the few lines.

“They seem to hold someone in the interrogation chamber”, she answered, “Someone they suspect having vital information about the dragon problem.”

“Damn, and where’s this chamber?”, the ranger looked around.

“Down there”, she said, folding the letter and putting everything in her pouch, “And I guess I have the key for that as well.”

She was proven right when she tried the key on the door they found down a flight of stairs. They ended up on a balcony overseeing several cells. A guard turned around when the door fell into its lock. Not waiting for him to come to them Ylva moved to the stairs around the corner. She was greeted by flames cast by the guard that hungrily licked at her. Her armor protected her and she charged forward, thrusting her knee into his chest. Thrown back by her momentum the guard crashed down, the impact forcing all air out of his lungs. She pinned him down with her foot as she slashed his throat.

There was another dossier laying ready on the table in front of a cell. The strong stench of feces, blood, and piss filled her nostrils, making her feel sick. Through the bars she could make out a badly wounded man, his head hanging down as if he had lost consciousness.

“Bishop, watch that door”, she quickly said to the ranger, putting away her axes.

The door to the cell swung open easily enough and she entered, the stench almost overpowering her. The man had bloody cuts covering his whole body. Some had already started to heal, some others had started festering. She gently shook him. The man jerked awake, wide eyes looking at her.

“I told you, I don’t know anything else about it”, he stammered.

“I’m not here to torture you”, she was already working on the cuffs binding the man to the wall.

“What? Who…what do you want then?”, the man’s eyes were glazed with sickness. He probably was feverish already.

“No time to explain. Let’s get out of here”, she finally managed to free his bounds.

He fell to the ground, too weak to get up on his own. Taking pity on him she handed him another of her healing potions.

“Thanks”, he took it and downed it. Some of his strength restored he managed to get up on his feet, “Come on, this way. I’ve seen the guards use it to get rid of bodies. It must lead somewhere.”

“Hold on. You may know something important”, she addressed him again.

“I damn well hope so”, the man had a grim look on his face, “If it helps you twist them up, I’m glad to help. They’re after some old guy named Esbern. Something to do with dragons, I gathered it from listening to them talk when they thought I was out. I’ve seen a guy in Riften who they seem to think is him. Not much to go on – I don’t even know where he lives or his name. But they seemed pretty excited about it. That’s it. Now, let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah”, she said.

“Someone’s coming, ladyship”, Bishop warned.

All three of them hid in the next cell where a trapdoor covered in blood was on the floor. Two Thalmor soldiers came in, in their midst Malborn with bound hands. _Damn it, they found out about him!,_ Ylva cursed. She reached for her bow, reading a black arrow.

“Listen up, spy!”, one of the soldiers let his gaze wander over the cells, clearly looking for them, “You’re trapped in here and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately or you both die.”

“Take the left one”, Ylva muttered under her breath, knowing that Bishop had his bow ready too.

The bowstring snapped back when the arrow whistled through the air. She hit the guard, staggering the Altmer but not killing her. The second arrow was deadly though. Bishop had taken out the other soldier. With the threat gone, Malborn took one of the soldier’s swords freeing his own hands. When he joined them, he seemed to be upset.

“Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life”, he spat, “I hope it was worth it.”

“I hope so”, Ylva replied, “And let’s get out of here as fast as possible.”

“One of the guards holds the key”, the tortured man provided the helpful information.

Ylva quickly went up to retrieve it then came back to test it on the trapdoor. Much to her relieve the door sprang open.

“I’ll go first”, she announced, “There could be traps. You two better get yourselves some weapons from the corpses.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”, Bishop put a hand on her shoulder.

“As long as you come in right behind me, yes”, she squeezed his hand before climbing down the ladder.

There was the stench of old blood and feces. Slowly she moved down the small path opening up to a cave. She heard grunting and scratching noises. And suddenly there was the strong smell of troll.

“Troll! Stay back!”, she yelled as she switched to her axes and leaped down a ledge.

“Ylva!”, Bishop yelled behind her.

The troll turned quickly, his many eyes seizing up his newest prey. Ylva didn’t give him much time to think.

“YOL TOR!”, she breathed, letting fire burn the trolls hide, weakening the beast. She then jumped forward, dodging the sharp claws widely thrashing around. One ax struck it in the side, the other one she dug deep into its head. The beast gurgled as the life spilled from his body.

“All clear!”, Ylva breathed.

“Damn it, ladyship!”, Bishop was the first one down, “What did I tell you earlier about not letting you go anywhere alone?”

“It was just a troll”, she breathed.

“ _Just_ a troll”, he shook his head, “And next time it’s _just_ a dragon, or what?”

“Come on, Bish”, she was getting tired and just wanted to get away, “Can we just go?”

“The first good idea that has come out of your pretty mouth today”, he smirked, “All right, let’s get going.”

Apart from the troll, nothing else stood in their way to freedom. Ylva was exhausted and could imagine that the ranger felt much the same way. She held her fingers to her lips and let out a sharp whistle, calling for Allie.

Turning around she faced the Bosmer and the Nord.

“I don’t think I have to tell you that you should run as fast as you can”, she told them, “It’s best if we split up.”

She dug into her pocket and pulled out some gold coins, giving each of them enough to pay for food and the fee for either a boat or a carriage.

“I know that this isn’t much but I hope you’ll get away safely”, she said.

“Thanks”, the Nord took the money, “If you ever come to Riften, look me up.”

“I’ll be going too”, Malborn announced, “I don’t know where I’ll hide but I’ll try to leave Skyrim as soon as possible.”

“Why did you do that?”, the ranger asked as they both watched them leave, “Why did you give them a small fortune each?”

“It wasn’t a fortune”, she explained herself, “And I couldn’t leave them like this. I’m not a heartless bitch as Delphine seems to be.”

“ _Delphine_ ”, he spat the name as if it were an insult, “If we see her again remind me to punch her in the face. She almost had you and me killed!”

“But we survived”, Ylva turned around, “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Bishop smiled at her, his hand gently stroking her cheek.

“You know I’ll be there. Who else is going to watch that lovely backside after all?”

In the distance, she heard Allie’s whinny and turned to see the mare galloping towards them, Balo and Karnwyr on her tail.

“Good girl!”, Ylva welcomed her horse, gently stroking her nose. Turning around to see Bishop ruffling Karnwyr’s fur she smiled.

“Bish, let’s go home.”

 

They rode through the night, getting as much distance as possible between them and the Thalmor. Ylva knew that she had killed several high ranking Thalmor wizards, something they won’t easily forget. To not draw unwanted attention, they put up camp hidden away from the roads and didn’t bother to put up a campfire.

Bishop lay on his back with Ylva in his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. He was as tired as her, but sleep didn’t want to come. Involuntarily his mind wandered back to the events of the night:

He had been climbing up the tree, testing whether or not the branch closest to the fence would hold his weight. His eyes had never left the guards, always keeping track of their positions – or so he thought. Out of nowhere, he got hit by a lightning spell. The spasms ran through his body, making him lose his footing and slip from the branch. When his head hit the ground, his world went dark.

He came back to himself with his hands bound behind his back and with two guards holding him upright. His vision was still blurry when he looked up and saw into the cold eyes of an Altmer Justiciar.

“Well, well. If that isn’t a pleasant surprise to find you here”, the Altmer said, “That means the Dragonborn can’t be far either.”

“What makes you think that?”, the ranger growled, feeling nauseous from the throbbing pain in his head.

“Because your lover is never far away from you. We’ve been watching you”, the Altmer grinned victoriously, “And with you in our hands, I bet she will be most cooperative.”

“We are not lovers”, the ranger snarled.

“Oh? Our sources have seen and heard something else”, the Altmer continued, “Sharing a room, you making a scene to get into the Crystal Ball and then those noises reported from said shared room?”

Bishop growled, but the Thalmor quickly seized his throat, making him choke.

“Now”, the Justiciar whispered, his cold eyes fixed on him, “You will tell me her weakness.”

The grip of his throat loosened and he coughed.

“I won’t tell you anything”, he rasped between coughs.

“That’s what you say now”, the grin on the Altmer’s face made his blood freeze, “Boys, let’s make the ranger feel a little more _comfortable,_ will you?”

He remembered that nasty crunching sound as his nose broke. He had been out for a moment but they had shoved ice in his face, bringing him back immediately.

“You have a nice knife”, one of the guards said, “I think I’ll keep it.”

“You…wish”, the ranger coughed up.

A sharp pain on his face made him wince and something warm ran down his face and into his eye.

“Try and get it back”, the guard teasingly held the knife in front of his face.

Suddenly a noise drew the Thalmors’ attention away. Grateful for the chance of some relief he tried to catch a glimpse of what had come to his rescue. When he finally laid eyes on Ylva his heart raced. Her armor had been returned to her and was already covered in blood spatters, the dragon bone acting as the perfect canvas for the art of death she painted so well. Seeing her made him both incredibly happy and horrified. If the Thalmor could easily sneak up on him there was no telling what they would do to her. But when he met her gaze he understood. There was nothing stopping her and she would save him.

And then the Justiciar froze as she charged in, her movement both swift and deadly. It had been a high risk that she had taken at that moment if the guard holding his knife would have reacted differently it would have been his blood tainting the snow red. Only it _hadn’t._

Looking down at her sleeping on his chest he could only wonder, would he have done the same in her position? No, it had been the best that he had been the one being caught. There was no telling what these bastards would have done to her if they would have gotten their hands on her. Images of the mutilated werewolf in the torcher chamber flashed in his mind and he shuddered. Yes, he’d gladly take the beating again. Besides, it wasn’t the worst he had gotten in his life. His father had had a much rougher hand.

Gently he stroked a red strand of hair out of her face, making her cuddle closer to him fortunately without waking up. Who would think that this beautiful woman was so powerful and deadly? And yet she was so caring. She had apologized about 100 times, even though it hadn’t been her fault that he had been caught by these bastards. A smile spread over his face and he felt warm and a strange sensation of peace holding her. _Shit, I’m really falling in love, aren’t I?_


	41. Hot Shower

The rain was dripping down in heavy drops when they finally reached the Lodge two days later. All of them were exhausted and tired. All they wanted was something to eat, a hot shower and some sleep. Bishop took care of the fire heating up the water for a shower and Ylva began to prepare a quick stew, waiting for the hearth to heat up to a cooking heat.

While she waited she spread the three dossiers she had taken from the Embassy on the table. During the last days, she had read through all of them, desperately trying to find something worth going through all that trouble to get them in the first place. They held information on three people: Delphine, this Esbern and Ulfric Stormcloak. Delphine’s dossier had only confirmed what she had expected so far: She had been a top-ranking agent of the Blades with a strong sense for survival, sometimes even brutally so. The one she found most interesting was on Ulfric. From all the people in the world she had least expected that Ulfric had ties to the Thalmor. Of course, those ties had been pressed onto him, as had the torture surely not made him any friendlier towards the Aldmeri Dominion. The Thalmor were playing a dangerous game and it was clear that the ongoing Civil War was only playing into their hands. Next time she would get to see her aunt she needed to tell her that, that was something she couldn’t trust a messenger with.

Still, she had expected more. That Esbern fellow sounded promising, but his whereabouts were just speculations. She would need to show Delphine the dossier and see what the crazy lady thinks about, but she had no intentions to go right away. If the Thalmor were right about it, they only had little time and Delphine would surely insist that they go instantly. But after everything they had gone through they needed rest and some more potions. Who knew when Alduin would send the next dragon.

“What are you thinking about, sweetness?”, Bishop remarked as he came towards her.

“About Alduin and dragons”, she rubbed her face to clear her head.

“Come on, ladyship”, he gently touched her shoulder, “You need to allow yourself some rest. So, stop thinking about that for now. Let’s get us something to eat and shower.”

“You’re probably right”, she sighed, “But I can’t stop myself from thinking about it.”

“Then how about you let me take your mind off things?”, he suggested as he leaned closer.

“You are insatiable, you know that?”, she chuckled, “We’ve been on horseback for 3 days and apart from our faces we have not washed once. Let me at least get a shower before you’re assaulting me.”

“Fair enough”, he winked, “But I _will_ get back to you on that.”

 

Ylva let the warm water run over her body, washing away sweat and dried blood and other dirt. Her fingers combed through her wet tresses, carefully entangling the knots after thoroughly scrubbing her scalp with lavender soap. For her, this was almost like a meditation, maybe even a spiritual cleansing. With the dirt of battle washed away, the warrior came to rest and the woman in her stepped forward. The soreness of her thighs, sore from too many days in the saddle with hardly any rest, was relieved by the caring touch of warm water. She was used to traveling. The Companions were called to all the different holds quite frequently. But riding hard for days as if being followed was something she had never had to do.

Looking around the small wooden cabin she felt worried. Would her home still provide her with protection from the Thalmor? Would they come to take back the dossiers or avenge the lives she had taken? She was sure that the Thalmor wouldn’t attack her close to a city or within one. Killing the Harbinger on the open street would cause even the most loyal Jarls to join Ulfric’s side. This would mean the Civil War would then be quickly ended, which certainly was going against their hopes. But they probably wouldn’t shy away from breaking into her home to regain the Dossiers and more information. She would need to ask Lydia to be extra careful with guarding her home from now on. Maybe it would even be best if she would stay at the Lodge permanently. Hopefully, the ranger wouldn’t mind if he had to give up his room.

Suddenly the door opened and Bishop marched in completely naked, startling her.

 “I thought you might feel alone”, the ranger smirked, “And I couldn’t resist that sweet body of yours.”

“I’m not afraid to be alone, you know”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, very much aware of her own nakedness.

“No need to be shy around me, princess”, he grinned, “There’s not one single part of your body that I didn’t already touch.”

“That doesn’t mean you can just barge in because you feel like it”, she complained but already began to relax. He was a sight for sore eyes, the fire giving his cinnamon skin a golden glow.  

“I’m not going to stand here and play your games. You can’t lie to yourself and neither can I”, he came closer, stepping into the water jet, the water dripping down his wonderful body.

“I take it you don’t like this game since you keep losing so badly at it?”, she winked, playfully trying to take charge again.

“You are funny”, he chuckled but continued to step closer, closing the distance between them, “And despite, or perhaps because of your sharp tongue, I find you quite irresistible.”

Ylva could feel the warmth of his skin on her own. His amber eyes were hypnotic, unspoken promises laying in them as well as lust. The water traced his muscular built, running down to his manhood that was already starting to stiffen. Her lower belly started to tingle in response, yearning for the wonderful sensation of being his.

“I find you irresistible”, she breathed, “But it could be…messy today.”

As predicted, her courses had arrived sometime during their ride today.

“So what?”, he leaned forward, his warm breath tickling her skin, “The water will wash it away.”

His lips were only parts of an inch away from her own. Not able to bear the tension anymore she wrapped her hands around his neck, connecting his lips with her own. They tasted sweet from the met they had been drinking with the stew. She took in his wonderful smell of autumn, that even the smells of battle and traveling couldn’t cover up. His hands slid down from her shoulders to her lower back, slowly caressing every inch of skin he passed over. Playfully he squeezed her butt, making her gasp. He whirled them both around, pinning her to the wall under the shower. The water jet stopped, leaving them both dripping wet. The ranger pulled back, his eyes gleaming with passion.

“I want to claim you as my own!”, he growled, “I want you to be mine and mine alone! If I see someone else so much as look at you wrong!”

“I only have eyes for you and you alone”, she answered, pressing herself harder against him, feeling his cock twitch against her belly.

“You damn sexy woman”, his lips found hers again, kissing her hungrily. His hands slid up her torso and up her arms, pinning them above her head. She moaned into the kiss, her body begging for more. By the gods, this man drove her insane with lust. Her skin was tingling as one of his hands managed to come free and traced the muscles of her belly down to her most private part.

“Don’t”, she whimpered as she understood where his hand was headed.

“I don’t mind getting my hands dirty”, he grinned. First one and then a second finger touched the bud of nerves, making her tremble.

“Now tell me you don’t like this”, he whispered into her ear.

She wanted to answer but he let two fingers enter her, making her moan.

“You’re mean”, she managed to whisper.

“You have no ideas of what I plan to do to you”, he licked his lips hungrily, “I can’t get enough of your sweet voice.”

She struggled against his hand, trying to get her own free. He wasn’t done with her, however, strengthening his hold on her hands while continuing to pleasure her, making her knees feel weak. Her cheeks felt hot, her breath got deeper, and her moans louder. His hungry amber eyes kept looking at her, watching her every movement. The sensitive bundle of nerves felt hot and tingly as he circled it with his thumb. She pressed herself harder against his hand, moving her hips. Her mind felt dizzy with lust, almost driven mad by the wonderful sensation of his touch. The orgasm hit her completely unexpectedly and she helplessly shook as the waves rolled over her.

“That didn’t take long”, he teased. Satisfied Bishop pulled his hand away and let her hands go.

“And who’s fault is that?”, she groaned.

Ylva whirled them both around now pressing the ranger against the wooden wall.

“Now let’s see how long you can last”, she grinned while a hand touched his throbbing member. He groaned as her fingers closed around him. With a broad smile, she got down on her knees. She let her other hand join the first, slowly moving up in down his length while twisting around him. He sharply inhaled, his short nails digging into the wood behind him. Slowly she increased the speed of her hands as well as the pressure. He closed his eyes and let his head fall against the wall. She studied his face as she continued to pleasure him. While she continued the twist with one hand she let the other slide lower, gently squeezing his balls.

“By the gods”, he groaned, “What are you doing to me?”

“I take it you like it”, she grinned, massaging the tip of his member, her fingers gliding over that sensitive part on the back of his tip.

“Yeah”, he gasped, “You could say that.”

His tip was moist, his lust making him leak already. Her eyes never leaving his face, she gently licked at the tip, making him tremble. Thrilled that she could pleasure him this much she let her tongue circle around the tip. Leaning closer to him she took him in her mouth and sucked softly. The ranger groaned even louder this time. Encouraged by the sound she began moving her mouth up and down his cock, taking in as much as she could. With one hand she continued to massage his balls while the other matched the movements of her mouth. Her own core felt warm and tingly again. She’d never imagined that she would enjoy pleasuring him this way that much. His finger tangled themselves in her hair as he guided her head up and down. She let him take control, careful not to choke on his length. He was trembling badly and fought hard for control. Before she could finish him off he tugged at her hair, making her look up at him.

“Get up”, he groaned, “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Are you?”, she playfully let her thumb circle over the tip of his cock.

Growling, he pulled her up on her feet, pushing her forward against the wall, coming up behind her.

“I want to make you scream so loud that it will be heard even in Whiterun”, he growled in her ear.

“Try and make me”, she gave back.

He thrust inside her without a warning, making her crush into the wall. She felt him filling her up completely, his tip hitting her womb. She moaned loudly as he withdrew only to bury himself inside her again. The pace he was setting was fast and wild. Still sensitive from her earlier orgasm each thrust felt like ripping right through her. He pounded into her, his fingernails digging into the skin of her hips. Her moans became louder until they turned into screams of lust. She felt as if her core was being molten like iron ore in a smelter. With each thrust she was pushed against the wood, making the planks of the wall shake dangerously.

As she thought she would lose consciousness, an orgasm ripped through her making her scream his name over and over again as it shook her. The ranger didn’t last long either, pumping his hot juice trembling just as badly as she did.

 

Bishop woke up the next day in her bed with her already gone. Noises from down below told him that she was already hard at work at restoring their supply of potions. Yawning he shook his head. Not even a day of rest she’d probably allow themselves before heading out. With a broad smile, he remembered the night before. She had almost made him lose it when she had gotten down on her knees. Where on Nirn had she learned to do that? Had she been acting of instinct alone? If so, that was one hell of an instinct.

He got up and put on some clothes before moving down the stairs. Karnwyr looked up as he passed him. The wolf had settled in front of the fireplace, a large bone between his paws. Ylva was working her alchemy table, a number of empty vials on the shelf to her left and even more vials standing on the table in the middle of the study.

“When have you woken up?”, he wondered loudly.

“Don’t know. Couple hours ago?”, she looked up at him and smiled, “I lost track of time.”

“And you’ve been very busy”, he picked up a vial, “What potions did you make?”

“More regeneration potions and some very strong healing potions”, she leaned back over the table, “The wheat I have in my garden was ready for harvesting and I had the luck to catch some butterflies this morning. I tried out one of my ancestors’ recipes for a strong potion against shock magic. Makes you more resistant against that stuff. Definitely will come in handy next time facing these damn Thalmor.”

“Yeah”, he felt his gut clench by the thought of heading into their next fight. Much as he hated to admit it he was more afraid of something happening to her than to himself. But he knew that she wouldn’t shy away from any battle.

“What’s the next thing?”, he asked.

“Probably seeking out that Esbern fellow”, she replied, “They seem to suspect him in Riften.”

“Was that in the dossiers?”, the ranger hadn’t taken a look at them yet.

“Yes. You can read them if you want, I’ve put them on the table”, she gestured towards the table she had been putting her finished potions. Bishop had to search a bit before he found the dossier with the name Esbern. Going to the fireplace he sat down and began to read:  


Status: Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Male, Nord, late 70s

Background: Esbern was one of the Blades loremasters prior to the First War Against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file had remained dormant for many years, an inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been called to Alinor for punishment and reeducation), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them.

Operational Notes: As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragonlore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of dragons, which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to the dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons' return.

We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible eyewitness is on-going. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.

An expert in dragon lore. That was certainly something that would help them. And Bishop had a pretty good idea where that fellow might be hiding. The Ratway was the place to go in Riften if you wanted to be left alone, as long as you could defend yourself or pay off the Thieves Guild lurking in there as well.

He felt a hand on his shoulder an looked up. Ylva smiled down at him.

“How do you feel about lunch?”, she asked, “And afterward we should check our equipment and probably seek out Delphine.”

“You want to see her today? Don’t you want at least a full day’s rest before walking into a death trap _again?”_ , she probably hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in days and still was planning on leaving.

“I’d rather spent some time resting myself. It’s just if that Esbern fellow is really there, he’s in great danger”, she explained, “The letter I found addressed to Elenwen could have been just a copy. We don’t know for sure if she has read it or not. But they probably will act as soon as possible since we know about him, too. They will try and be faster than we are.”

“All right”, he sighed, “Then let’s go talk to that crazy innkeeper.”  



	42. Riften

They arrived in Riverwood in the late afternoon. Dark clouds loomed overhead and the air smelled of rain. With mixed feelings, Ylva dismounted and tied Allies reigns to the post in front of the inn. The way Delphine had willingly risked not only hers but Bishop’s life at the Embassy had not helped to increase the sympathy she felt towards the woman. She had fought hard with herself if she should talk to the Blade again or if she should just continue without her. Reason brought her around eventually, she needed to get her opinion on Esbern. If the person the Thalmor suspected really was the old Blade agent, she needed to get to him before they did.

Pushing open the door to the Sleeping Giant, Ylva instantly felt the warmth of the fire on her face. Orgnar looked up from the mug he was cleaning.

“Come on in. Just stoked the fire”, the Nord welcomed them, “Take a seat and get the cold out.”

“Where’s Delphine?”, Ylva had no time for theatrics. She wanted to get this done quickly.

The Nord gestured towards the room on his left, Delphine’s bedroom. “You know the way.”

Nodding Ylva entered the bedroom and opened the wardrobe she knew would open the secret door to the basement. Without looking back, she knew that the ranger was following close behind her. He had not left her side ever since they left the Lodge, riding close beside her. No, he would not be parted from her after what happened, that he had made clear.

The Breton was looking at something on the table in the middle of the room and stood with her back to them as they came down the stairs. She wore the leather armor Ylva recognized from when they had fought Sahloknir.

“You made it out alive, at least”, she addressed them as she turned around, “Did you learn anything useful?”

 _The nerve of this woman,_ Ylva thought and gritted her teeth. Was this really all she had to say to them? The Thalmor would be hunting them for the rest of their lives for what they had done, and Delphine couldn’t even be bothered to ask if they were all right?

“The Thalmor know nothing about the dragons”, the warrior replied in a neutral tone, holding her anger in as best as she could.

“Really? That seems hard to believe”, the Breton eyed her with mistrust, “You’re sure about that?”

“Why’d you send me if you weren’t going to believe me?”, Ylva snapped, crossing her hands in front of her chest to prevent them to reach for her weapons. Her fingers itched, wanting to strike the woman’s face and just leave.

“You’re right, you’re right”, Delphine seemed to understand that her life was at risk if she continued, “I just…I was sure it must have been them. If not the Thalmor, who? Or…what?”

“They didn’t raise Alduin, but the Thalmor are looking for someone named Esbern”, Ylva watched the other woman’s face for a hint of recognition.

“Esbern? He’s alive?”, the Breton’s face lit up like a flame, “I thought the Thalmor must have got him years ago. That crazy old man…”

She chuckled to herself, apparently a pleasant memory shooting through her head. If Delphine thought that Esbern was killed by the Thalmor and the Thalmor believed him to have died of old age instead that must mean he could be still alive, Ylva thought as her eyes continued to study the Breton, So that old man in Riften could be him.

“Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail, though, if they were trying to find out what’s going on with the dragons”. Delphine continued.

“What would the Thalmor want with Esbern?”, Ylva wanted to confirm what she already knew from the dossiers.

“You mean, aside from wanting to kill every Blade they can lay their hands on?”, one blond eyebrow shot up in question.

Ylva threw her an angry glance and thrummed her fingers on her arm. She was not in the mood for games. Sighing the Breton began to pace around the room as she explained.

“Esbern was one of the Blades’ archivists, back before the Thalmor smashed us during the Great War. He knew everything about the ancient dragonlore of the Blades. Obsessed with it, really. Nobody paid much attention back then. I guess he wasn’t as crazy as we all thought.”

“They seem to think he’s hiding out in Riften”, Bishop chimed in.

“Riften, eh? Probably down in the Ratway, then. It’s where I’d go”, Delphine looked at the ranger and then turned to face her again, “You’d better get to Riften. Talk to Brynjolf. He’s…well-connected. A good starting point at least.”

Ylva let her hands smash down hard on the table, making the pot if ink fall over and spill the last of the ink on the table. Delphine flinched and looked at her surprised.

“Do you think I’m _stupid_?”, Ylva thundered, “He’s one of the highest-ranking members of the Thieves Guild. I would be rather be caught _dead_ than to be seen talking to him! I’m a Companion for fuck sake!”

“Do you want to find Esbern or not?”, the Breton snapped back.

“I’ll find him, don’t you worry”, she snarled, “I have my own ways.”

She pushed past Delphine that was blocking the way up the stairs without so much as looking at the Blade. Outside on the porch of the inn, she took a moment to take a deep breath. Infiltrating the Embassy had been going against her upbringing as a Companion and was sure to earn her a scolding from her Shield-Siblings. But talking to a member of the Thieves Guild? No fucking way.

“So, how are you planning on finding this guy?”, Bishop had stopped next to her.

“Down in the Ratway Warren’s”, she answered, “If he wants to seek shelter he’s probably down there.”

“How are you so sure about this?”, the ranger asked.

“I can’t remember how often the Companions have been asked to retrieve a stolen item that the Thieves Guild had gotten their hands on. I’ve been down there myself more times than I care to count”, she grimaced at the memory, “Come if we hurry we might reach Riften sometime this night and might get a few hours of sleep in the Bee’s and Barb.”

“All right. But we need to rest properly once this mad hunt is over”, he warned her.

Ylva turned towards the ranger and smiled. “And we will, I promise.”

 

 

 

Rain poured down as they rode towards Riften, the heavy clouds taking away the sun. While their armor protected them from most of the rain it couldn’t keep out all of it. Ylva’s linen shirt and breeches were already starting to dampen and she grew cold despite her heavy coat. _Well, at least we will be safe from dragon or wizard attacks as long it rains,_ she thought. Lightning spells could easily backfire if the caster was wet and dragons seemed to hate to fly in a rainstorm. She knew that she still had to be careful, the cover of rain would not protect them from all danger.

The high stone walls of Riften finally appeared on the horizon, making the horses ride faster with the promise of rest and shelter so close. The horses needed as much rest as they could get. Skyrim’s horses might be hardy and strong, but they had not been granted a proper rest after the hard ride home from Solitude. Ylva hoped, that Hofgrir Horse-Crusher might be still awake to care for them.

They were lucky, the young Redguard apprentice to the stable-master was still outside taking care of some of the other horses already at the Riften Stables.

“Good to see a friendly soul out here”, Ylva greeted him, “Taking care of the horses, Shadr?”

“Long time no see, Ylva”, the Redguard smiled at her, “What brings you to Riften this late of an hour?”

“Urgent business that couldn’t wait till morning”, Ylva quickly replied, “I don’t know whether I’ll be staying long. Could you tend to our horses? They had a couple of rough days and need your expert touch. I would love for them to rest properly but we’ll most likely won’t have the time for that”, she explained, “There’s some extra coin in for you if you get them up to strength tomorrow morning.”

“Of course”, Shadr nodded, “But that’s unlike you to treat your Allie that way.”

“I wouldn’t if it wasn’t necessary”, she said, “But I know she’s in good hands here.”

With the horses taken care of, they headed towards the Bee and Barbs. Riften’s streets were deserted as they usually were this time of night, with only thieves and beggars lurking in the shadows. Keeping her hands close to her axes she continued on. The Thieves Guild knew better than to mess with her and no one came in their way.

“Riften”, Bishop muttered behind her, „The whole town is one big thieves’ guild. If anyone of these thieves tries anything with me they will not live to regret it.”

“Probably not”, Ylva commented as they reached the inn. The Bee’s and Barbs was crowded and the patron’s already deep in their cups. The innkeeper, an Argonian with the name Keerava looked up. The intelligent eyes recognized her.

“Need a room, Companion?”, Keerava asked.

“Yes”, Ylva moved over to the counter, “And do you still have something warm to eat? We’re drenched to the bone.”

“Talen will bring you something over, I think there’s still some stew left”, the Argonian replied.

“There’s something else you could help us”, Bishop had joined them at the counter.

“Bishop, long time no see, ranger”, the Argonian looked from one to the other, “There has been talk that you’ve been making yourself some new friends in Whiterun. Seems the rumors were true.”

“Word has gotten around I see”, Bishop smirked.

“I have heard all crazy things of late”, Keerava looked around, “Like dragons on the rise and somebody breaking into the Thalmor Embassy. They didn’t say who and haven’t placed a price for information, which is od. Instead, it’s said that they are looking for somebody, some old Nord.”

“Do they?”, the ranger continued, “These Altmer sure are busy.”

“Seems they think the Thieves Guild will help them. Saw some hoods talk to Brynjolf today”, the Argonian whispered.

Ylva and Bishop exchanged worried glances.

“Thanks, Keerava”, Ylva replied, “You surely know the word around town.”

“Got my ears open”, The Argonian winked.

 

They retreated towards an empty table, waiting for Talen-Jei to bring the promised stew. Bishop could see her brooding over the latest bit of information. He knew that she was already eager to rush down towards the Ratway, hoping to yet save the old Blade from the Thalmor’s grasp.

“At least allow yourself to heat up and eat something”, he finally said.

Surprised she looked at him.

“What, it’s written on your face what you plan on doing next”, the ranger shrugged, “Drenched to the bone as we are we will possibly be not much of a challenge to these wizards.”

“You’re probably right”, she pulled off her gauntlets, rubbing her hands over her face. She looked tired. Not even her warpaint covering the shadows under her eyes could fool him to think otherwise. It was evident that she needed rest. But the ranger well knew that he wouldn’t be able to convince her to stop now. She was stubborn as a mule, that much he knew.

Talen-Jei finally arrived with two bowls of steaming stew, making him aware of how hungry he was. The ride with a dark sky made it difficult to tell time but it had been several hours ago. While wolfing down his own stew he kept watching Ylva. Her thoughts still seemed to be elsewhere while she ate, her hazel eyes fixed to a point in the far distance. It reminded him how she looked after Kodlak’s death but her eyes still held her fire, that fierce flame that drew him in. He realized that tonight they would not rest, the room Ylva had rented would most likely not get any use tonight. Before long they would need to properly rest, or they would collapse. His own body ached from traveling on horseback for days, his thighs sore from the saddle.

Bishop forced himself to think of their next steps. Ylva suspected the old Blade to seek shelter in the Warrens. He shuddered internally when he thought about that place. Only the craziest and the lowest of the low hung about there. It certainly wasn’t a place that would give them a warm welcome. Stinky, rat-infested and not just the animal ones, that what the place was like. He had ventured in there sometimes himself, always to escape to the Rift’s forest afterward. While his senses were not nearly as sensitive as Karnwyr’s or Ylva’s, the stench was almost too much to bear even for him. _Better to get this over quickly then._

 

The iron gate guarding the entrance to the Ratway creaked as she pulled it open. She turned around to Bishop.

“Ready?”, she whispered.

“Ready”, he nodded, pulling his leather hood up.

As always Ylva headed in first, her axes already in her hands, ready to strike whatever scum would throw itself at them. The stench of human filth and mold immediately filled her nose and she internally cringed. She hated going down here, not even a draugr infested tomb smelled that bad. At the end of the hallway, she heard two deep voices argue. Alarmed by her steps on the stone hall one of them turned around, holding a dagger.

“Hey, you! Stop right there!”, it was a young Nord, looking starved, “Empty your pockets or end up as skeever food.”

He must have not really seen her, for his eyes widened as she stepped into the light of a small fire burning in a corner.

“I’ve killed dozens like you”, she threatened, her black axes gleaming like dark blood in the firelight.

The boy let his dagger fall to the ground, his face suddenly white with fear.

“No need to get hasty. I…I was just testing you”, he moved backward, “You can go on ahead.”

“Wise decision”, Bishop remarked as they went past them.

“To Oblivion”, Ylva cursed as she went around the next corner, “They’ve pulled up the bridge. We need to go the long way.”

Without hesitation she jumped down to the lower level, knowing that through the labyrinth of corridors she would eventually reach The Ragged Flagon and the entry to the Warrens. A roar to her left warned her of an enemy approaching. Turning around she swung her ax and embedded it in the side of the approaching lowlife. The bloodshot eyes were still wide open when the man lifelessly sank to the floor.

“Slow down ladyship and leave some for me”, Bishop complained when he landed on the floor.

“The quicker we get through here, the sooner we will be out of this garbage dump of human society”, she replied, wrinkling her nose.

“You don’t like being here, I get it, princess”, the ranger put a hand on her shoulder, “But that doesn’t mean you have to be reckless.”

“I’m not reckless”, she argued, “Come on, Bish. Stopping won’t get us anywhere.”

He frowned disapprovingly but let go of her shoulder.

They continued on encountering to more weak bandits and a couple of traps that she remembered from her last trip down here. Finally, they reached the Ragged Flagon. The bouncer looked at them critically and the present Thief Guild members reached for their weapons.

“I’ve no business with you”, Ylva said, “Not today.”

“You still got a nerve coming in here Companion”, the bouncer snarled.

“Shut your trap”, the innkeeper called out, “No fights in my tavern, you hear me?”

Snarling the Nord retreated, his eyes following them as they went to the Ratway Vaults.

“You sure got a lot of fans down here”, the ranger remarked.

“No kidding”, she reached for the next door.

“Is there someone?”, a female voice called out.

Ylva only had the blink of an eye to dodge a lightning bolt aimed for her.

“Thalmor!”, she called out.

Ducking in the next doorway she quickly downed a potion of shock immunity. Bishop uncorked his own vial before he let the first arrow whistle from his bow.

“There are the Blades agents! Kill them!”, another voice called.

Ylva stormed towards the next doorway as lightning hit her in the right side. The potion helped, but her hands still clenched around the handle of her axes. With gritted teeth she quickly changed direction, closing the distance between her and the Thalmor.

“YOL!”, she breathed.

“Argh!”

The fire was only a distraction for the ax ripping through robe and skin and guts. Footsteps warned her of more soldiers approaching. From an opening spilled two more soldiers onto the platform she was standing on. The first fell with an arrow piercing his eye, the second she hacked down in a swift motion.

Continuing down the small corridor opening to her left she heard more enemies approaching. After a long bend in the stone labyrinth, she came face to face with another soldier.

“Nord beast!”, the Altmer woman spat, “Both your life and lands are now forfeit!”

“Let’s see about that”, Ylva snapped back.

A fire spell hit her shoulder, not doing much damage beyond warming her up. Grinning she dodged the attack of the conjured sword aimed for her. Instead, her own weapon ripped the neck of the woman open, spilling red blood on the ground. She reached another platform and looked around for the ranger and his wolf.

“Bish? Karnwyr? Are you two all right?”, she asked loudly.

“We’re fine”, Bishop's low rumble came from above her, “Seriously, ladyship. Don’t run off ahead like that!”

“In my defense, I thought you were behind me”, she shrugged, “But the Thalmor I met are dead. We need to get down there. The entry to the Warren is there.”

There was no sight of any Thalmor within the Warrens. The Warrens weren’t big compared to the Vaults. A small hallway led to a room with doors heading inside smaller rooms on two stories connected by some stairs. One, in particular, caught Ylva’s eye. It was heavily reinforced while most other doors were either simple cell doors or wooden.

“It’s got to be that one”, she said to Bishop.

“I’ll watch your back”, he eyed the only door leading out with mistrust.

Her heart pounded and she felt strangely nervous when she raised her hand to knock on the door. Would she find the answers to her burning questions or was this another dead end? And when would the Thalmor arrive for she was sure those few they had met were the only ones trying to find the old man. Holding her breath, she knocked on the door.

A small window in the door slid open, revealing an elder Nord: “Go away!”

He matched the description in the dossier, making her heart leap with hope.

“Esbern? Open the door. I’m a friend”, she replied.

On hearing the name his eyes got wide. “What?! No, that’s not me. I’m not Esbern. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Thalmor have found you!”, she urged him, finally sure that she was really talking to Esbern, “You need to get out of here!”

“Oh, how reassuring!”, the Nord rolled with his eyes, “Most likely you’re with the Thalmor or this is just a trick to get me to open the door, huh?”

“Delphine needs your help to stop the dragons”, she insisted.

Esbern went quiet for a moment, watching her thoughtful.

“So Delphine keeps up the fight, after all these years”, he finally said, “You’d better come in and tell me how you found me and hat you want.”

“This’ll just take a moment…”, he closed the window. From the noises coming from the other side of the door, he was working on several locks.

“Well”, the ranger smirked, “at least we know that the trip to the Embassy wasn’t completely worthless.”

“Thankfully. Or else that crazy woman would have paid for it”, Ylva remarked in a low voice.

“This one always sticks…There we go…Only a couple more…”

Ylva and Bishop looked at each other, the absurdity of the moment making them chuckle softly.

“There we are”, finally, the door swung open, “Come in, come in! Make yourself at home.”

Quickly both of them entered. A look around revealed a large room holding everything one needed to live. On the left side from the door was a small study, on the right side it a small kitchen area. The heavy door fell into its locks.

“That’s better. Now we can talk”, the Esbern seemed to be satisfied and turned towards her, “So Delphine keeps you up the fight, after all these years. I thought she’d have realized it’s hopeless by now. I tried to tell her, years ago…”

“The Thalmor have found you”, Ylva urged, “We have to get you out of here.”

“Yes, yes so you said”, the old man crossed his arms and began pacing around the room, “But so what? The end is upon us. I may as well die here as anywhere else. I’m tired of running.”

“What do you mean, ‘the end is upon us’?”, she pulled off her helmet, annoyed that he didn’t want to come.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet? What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on? Alduin as returned, just like the prophecy said!”, he threw his hands into the air, “The Dragon from the dawn of time, who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him! I tried to tell them. They wouldn’t listen. Fools. It’s all come true…all I could do was watch our doom approach…”

“Alduin has been raising the other dragons”, she replied, “I saw him.”

“Yes! Yes! You see, you know but you refuse to understand!”, the old Blade went on.

“I do understand!”, she cut in, “And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled.”

“So you do know”, Esbern looked at her dumb folded.

“But the prophecy goes on”, she reminded him, “But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then! Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw! Dragonborn be the savior of men!”

“But no Dragonborn has been known for centuries!”, he argued, “It seems that the gods have grown tired of us. They’ve left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater.”

“Maybe you should crawl out from your cave”, Bishop remarked, “Cause the Dragonborn is standing right in front of your very eyes.”

“What? You’re…can it really be true? Dragonborn?”, Esbern eyed the ranger in disbelieve.

“Not me, you old fart!”, Bishop rolled his eyes, “ _She_ ’s the Dragonborn.”

For the first time, the old man really looked at her, his eyes finally taking in the armor made from dragon bones and the fire in her eyes.

“Then…then there is hope! The gods have not abandoned us! We must…we must…”, he looked around the room, “We must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss.”

“I’ll take you there. But she’s batshit crazy”, Ylva said, “Most paranoid and self-centered person, I’ve ever met.”

“That sounds like Delphine”, Esbern chuckled, “Give me…just a moment…I must gather a few things…”

The old man began to run around the room, frantically rummaging through drawers and stacks of books.

“I’ll need this…no, no useless trash”, he muttered to himself, “Where’d I put my annotated Anuad?”

“And this guy is our best bet?”, Bishop commented while they both turned towards the door. Karnwyr was already growling at it, sensing the danger lurking behind it.

“You got any other dragon lore experts stuffed up your sleeves?”, Ylva replied.

“One moment, I know, time is of the essence, but mustn’t leave secrets for the Thalmor…”, said dragonlore expert rushed over to another pile of papers, “There’s one more I must bring…”

“That was the last one. Let’s be off”, finally he returned to them.

“Esbern! I know you’re in there. Come out and you won’t be hurt!”, a voice thundered from the other side of the door.

Sighing Ylva put her helmet back on: “By Talos. This will be fun.”


	43. A Cornered Rat

_Trapped like a cornered rat, ironic really,_ she thought as she drank another potion to make her immune to the shock magic they soon would face. She had known that the Thalmor would send more men than the few they had already faced. With a beating heart, she pulled open the door. There were half a dozen Thalmor agents crowded in the small corridor, two soldiers and four Justiciars. Upon seeing her instead of the elderly Nord the Altmers stared at her with hatred in their eyes.

“Seems the Eight were generous to us. Killing you here will give us an easy cover”, the apparent leader of the group grinned viciously.

“For that, you’ll have to kill me first”, she pointed out, “And so far, none of your friends were a match to me.”

“Kill the Blades! But keep the old man alive!”, the Justiciar bellowed.

Lightning spew from several directions at her. Even with the potion at work, she felt the spasms run through her. With all her will she forced her mouth open.

“YOL TOR!”

The soldier rushing towards her was engulfed in fire, screaming in agony as his skin burned. Ylva managed to get her axes up and quickly put him out of his misery. The lightning got weaker as a well-aimed arrow pierced one of the wizards’ heart. Out of thin air, a frost atronach materialized next to her. Cursing she turned towards it, only to see it stomping towards the Thalmor. Looking back, she realized that the old Blade had conjured it.

“About time we got to killing!”, Bishop bellowed as the second soldier fell to his deadly arrows.

“You wish to defeat us?”, a Thalmor spat, “Impossible.”

“We’ll see about that”, the ranger replied.

A grin spread over Ylva’s face when she felt her breath ready for the next strike.

“FUS!”

The shockwave was not powerful enough to actually do much damage, but it swept the wizards off their feet. Esbern sent his atronach forward as well as let lightning spew from his own hands. Ylva shot forward and whirled around, her axes dancing through the air as she shouted again.

“SU!”

When she finally stopped twirling the three Thalmor were reduced to a bloody mess of torn flesh. It got quiet in the corridor, only the mad mumbling coming from one of the other rooms could be heard.

“I guess that was the last of them”, Ylva observed as she turned around.

“Not too fast, princess. First, we gotta get out of the Ratway”, the ranger warned her.

 

Finding their way out of the labyrinth they stepped over the bodies of those Thalmor that they had already slain. Although Bishop knew that Ylva was a fierce fighter, he still was impressed seeing her handiwork. It wasn’t often that they had to return the same way that they’ve come and he usually did not take the time to look at the bodies of those that they had slain. It made him feel strange, but not remorseful. The lives he had taken didn’t haunt him at night. He had other demons that haunted his sleep.

His gaze trailed to the old man that they now had taken in their midst, to best protect him. Would this man provide Ylva with the answers she needed? Or was he just like that self-preserving bitch in Riverwood, making them do his dirty work? Well, at least he hadn’t been as paranoid as Delphine had claimed him to be. But maybe that was just an act and he was leading them on? _If he puts Ylva in any dangerous situations like in that Embassy, I’m going to kill him instantly,_ he swore to himself. She might not care if she was sent on another suicide mission, but he did. He hated it when she stormed off ahead when he could neither see nor protect her. When would it finally get into her head that he _wanted_  to be there to watch her back?

When they finally reached the Ragged Flagon, several heads turned their way. Covered in blood as they were, nobody got in their ways then, letting them pass without making a move. But when they reached the door on the far side of the room they heard the scraping of chairs being moved. The thieves, of course, couldn’t resist looting the corpses for any treasures left behind.

After locating the lever to bring down the bridge they finally made their way out of the filth that was the Ratway. Out on the free air Bishop filled his lungs with the cool night air that tasted a bit fishy, being this close to the water. The sky was already starting to light up in the east, morning was close.

“Let’s get out of this city before the Thalmor’s backup comes”, Ylva remarked, “Maybe we can find a spot to hide out so that we can catch a little bit of sleep.”

“I know a few hiding spots in the Rift’s forest”, Bishop leaned closer to her and added, “There we can be alone and perhaps with no clothes?”

“Is that the only thing you can think of now?”, hazel eyes glared back at him, “What happened to the ‘we should rest after we return?’ Besides, we are not alone.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want anyone else seeing your beautiful curves”, the ranger admitted, “But a bit of rest would be good for us all.”

Watchful they climbed the stairs to the residential area of Riften. At this hour, no one but the guards was patrolling in the streets. Ylva had taken a moment to clean off some of the blood from her armor with a cloth, which proofed very wise. Being up that early did earn them a few curious glances by the guards, and if she had still been covered in blood, they would properly have attracted more than that.

Suddenly there was a loud outcry as a Kahjiit suddenly ran towards them with a raised saber. The ranger’s hand reached for his dagger but Ylva was quicker. The cat had no time to dodge when the black ax crushed its skull. Lifeless the Kahjiit fell to the floor.

“Probably a Thalmor agent”, Esbern commented.

Ylva bowed down to pick up a note that stuck out of the Kahjiit’s dress. Quickly skimming over the lines, she nodded.

“Looks that way”, she said as she got up, “Let’s keep on moving.”

 

With the gates of Riften closed behind them, Ylva allowed herself to relax a little. While there were other places that she dreaded even more, Riften certainly wasn’t a place she felt comfortable to be in. Returning to the stables, Allie greeted her with a whiny. The mare looked happy to see her. Balo greeted his own rider in a similar fashion.

“Hey my girl”, Ylva smiled as she patted her mare’s neck.

“You’re back already?”, Shadr came out of the house, rubbing his sleepy face, “I thought you said morning.”

“Wasn’t planned that way”, she apologized, “How are the horses?”

“They should be fine for a short ride, but they probably won’t manage the whole way back to Whiterun”, Shadr looked at the horses critically.

“That’s all right”, Bishop remarked, “I guess that means we have to walk them for some time later.”

“Yes”, the Redguard nodded.

“Thanks, Shadr. You’ve been a great help”, Ylva fished for her gold but then her eyes fell on Esbern. With the horses that tired, she couldn’t possibly have him ride with them on horseback, neither Allie nor Balo would suffer another weight on their back.

“We do need an additional horse as well”, she added while counting out some coins into her hand.

“Ladyship, why don’t we take a carriage instead?”, Bishop suggested, “That way you can rest a bit yourself.”

“That would take longer and a carriage can’t take the most direct route. The mountain pass between Ivarstead and Helgen is way to steep and narrow for a carriage to go through. No Bish, I don’t believe there’s a better way”, she replied.

“Since you probably only need the horse for one trip how about another offer: Skulvar at the Whiterun Stables wants one of our stallions to deck his mares. I was looking for someone to bring him over safely anyway, with all the dragons about”, Shadr suggested, “So, if you bring our Thorst to the Stables in Whiterun for me, you don’t have to pay me anything.”

“Of course! We’ll see that no harm comes to him”, Ylva was grateful for the kind offer, “Here’s the promised gold for taking care of my Allie.”

Once the horses were saddled all three of them swung themselves onto the horses.

“Goodbye”, Ylva waved as they rode away from the stables, taking the other way around Lake Honrich.

 

The light of early morning was already turning into that of the late morning as Treva’s Watch came into sight. For the last hour, Ylva had struggled to stay in the saddle, the exhaustion finally catching up with her.  She knew that there were several hours of riding ahead of them still and sighed.

“Princess, let us take a break”, Bishop suddenly appeared on her right.

“No, I can still go on”, she tried to convince both him and herself.

“Fuck your stupid stubbornness!”, he cursed, “You’ve already nodded off twice. And you damn well know that you can’t go on like this.”

Sighing she gave in: “Fine. Let’s make camp and rest for a few hours. But not more.”

She made Allie move away from the road to a spot hidden from view from both the path from Riften as well as from the Watch. She had been here before when she had been hunting down the Silver Hand. By the smell and the look, the fort was now occupied by bandits. When she got down from her horse, Esbern came to her.

“What are you doing? We need to get to Riverwood as soon as possible!”, he insisted.

“No, we don’t”, she yawned, “Delphine’s cover is unknown to the Thalmor, so she’s in no danger. But we will be if we continue to ride hard each day.”

“We’ve been riding hard for days now to save your ass, old man”, Bishop came to her side, “And since the Thalmor were on to you quicker then we thought, we didn’t get any rest yesterday. Least you can do to thank us for saving your ass is to let us rest and shut up.”

Esbern looked from one to the other. “Fine”, he finally got down from his horse.

Within a few moments, they had pitched up the large fur tent. The clouds had disappeared overnight, but the air was chill, even for mid-Frostfall. While she rolled out her bedroll, her stomach growled loudly. Bishop chuckled as he came into the tent.

“Sounds like an angry dragon”, he commented.

“Hey!”, she pouted, “That’s not fair.”

“Come on princess, before you get to nap, how about something to eat? I’m sure you’ve still got some of that troll jerky hidden in your backpack”, he grinned.

“You know me, Bish”, she winked, “I’m always prepared for anything.”

They all sat down outside the tent. Ylva had taken out a bread and some jerky. Now she cut some slices and shared them with both of the men. Karnwyr crept closer, his eyes fixed to the jerky in her own hand.

“Of course, you can have some, too”, she cut her jerky in half and gave one to the wolf.

“You’re spoiling him, princess”, Bishop seemed displeased, “He’s a wolf and not a pet. He can hunt his own prey.”

“I know he can. But we don’t have the time for a proper hunt”, she took a bite of the bread, “I don’t want to stay too long.”

“Always on the rush”, he complained, “I’ll be there to watch your back, ladyship. Now you get yourself some rest. Delphine won’t kill us if we take a little longer.”

Esbern cleared his throat. “I want to get to Delphine as soon as possible! There’s much that we need to discuss.”

“Nobody asked you what you want”, the ranger snarled.

“Bish, please”, Ylva placed her hand on his arm, “I want to hear what he has to say.”

“At least she got some respect for an old Nord”, Esbern grumbled.

“From what I know, you’ve both been part of the Blades, you and Delphine?”, Ylva urged the old Nord to continue.

“Yes, back when that still meant something”, a frown crossed his face, “Now we are just fellow fugitives from the Thalmor. I didn’t know she was still alive, but I’m not surprised. She was a survivor.”

“Self-preserving bitch”, Bishop mumbled.

“You don’t like her”, Esbern observed.

“How would you like it if you’re sent on a suicide mission and not given all the information to actually make it out alive?”, the ranger gave back.

“He’s not wrong”, Ylva explained to the old Blade, “Thanks to Delphine and her paranoia, we have the Thalmor on our own tail now, while she can still hold up her cover as an innkeeper in Riverwood. I’m the Harbinger and a known person. My friends and family are now in danger thanks to her.”

“She hasn’t changed much, I see”, Esbern smirked, “But that’s probably the reason why she’s still alive.”

Ylva wanted to say something to that, but her head felt heavy and her eyes fell shut. As she drifted off to sleep, she felt a strong arm close around her and smelled that autumn sweet scent. _Bishop…_

 

“About time”, the ranger shook his head as he put his arm around her, resting her head on his chest, “Told you, you couldn’t go on like this princess.”

“Why don’t you go to rest as well?”, Esbern suggested, “Surely you are just as tired?”

“And leave you on your own?”, Bishop glared at the other man, “hell no. Ylva might trust you, but that doesn’t mean I do. You seem to believe her that she’s the Dragonborn, for that you are at least better than Delphine. But you still haven’t given me a reason to trust you any more than I trust that bat-shit crazy woman.”

“Delphine didn’t believe it at first?”, Esbern raised an eyebrow.

“Tch”, Bishop shook his head, “No. She wanted to see it with her own eyes. Made us fight a dragon. Ylva nearly died that day. For that, I’ll never forgive that woman.”

“Love is a wonderful thing”, a smile spread over the old man’s face, making him look like a gentle grandfather.

The ranger’s heart skipped. “Who said anything about love?”

“Don’t deny it, son”, Esbern chuckled, “I’m old enough to know that you can’t deny love. And it’s obvious that you both have feelings for one another.”

The ranger looked down to the woman in his embrace. She seemed to be in a deep sleep. Her beautiful lips were curled in a smile. Was she smiling because of him? Was she really feeling the same he felt for her? And what if she did? He didn’t want anything to change between them. It was better if she didn’t know about his feelings.

“Don’t ever mention that to her, you hear me?”, Bishop looked back up at the old man, “Not a word.”

“If you wish”, Esbern shrugged, “But let an old man tell you, you’re making a mistake.”

 

The sun was turning red as they rode into Riverwood. Ylva had only slept for two hours, insisting that the ranger get an hour of rest himself. Maybe they would be allowed a night’s rest now, after bringing the two Blades back together?

“Here we are”, she announced when they stopped in front of the Sleeping Giant. Esbern seemed eager to come inside. Ylva was also eager to get it over with. This was the last test. If Delphine and Esbern had known each other for years as Blades they surely must recognize each other instantly. Hopefully, this all had not been in wane.

The Breton was talking to Orgnar as they came in. When she turned around her face lit up like a flame. There was no hesitation as she approached them, no sign of being on guard. Ylva nodded to herself and felt relieved.

“Delphine! I”, Esbern walked up to the other woman and gently touched her arm, “It’s so good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Esbern”, Delphine smiled at him, “It’s been too long, old friend. Too long.”

She then turned to Ylva and Bishop.

“Well, then. You made it, safe and sound”, for a moment it seemed that she was surprised that they managed to save the older Blade, “Good. Come on, I have a place we can talk. Orgnar, hold down the bar for a minute, will you?”

“Yeah, sure”, the tall Nord nodded, looking at the scene with a disinterested expression.

“This way”, Delphine led them to her secret basement.

Rolling her eyes at Bishop Ylva followed. These theatricals were getting on her already strained nerves.

When everyone had gathered in the basement Delphine faced Esbern and gestured towards Ylva: “Now then. I assume you know about…”

“Oh yes!”, Esbern nodded, “Dragonborn! Indeed, yes. Well, this changes everything of course. There’s no time to lose. We must locate…let me show you. I had it here somewhere…”

He went over to the table in the middle of the basement and rummaged through his pockets and pouches.

“Esbern, what…”, Delphine frowned at him.

“Give me…just a moment…”, he kept fumbling through his stuff, “Ah, here it is. Come, let me show you.”

They all drew nearer to be able to look into the book. It looked strange, unlike any book Ylva had seen until then. It was very old. Esbern opened a page and pointed at a map.

“You see, right here. Sky Haven Temple, constructed around one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim”, he explained.

“Do you know what he’s talking about?”, Delphine looked at Ylva.

“Shh!”, Esbern hushed her, “This is where they built Alduin’s Wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin’s Wall at the time – one of the wonders of the ancient world – its location was lost.”

“Esbern, what are you getting at?”, the Breton seemed to be confused.

Ylva vaguely remembered something about an important Wall, written in a book, but she wasn’t sure if it was the same the old man was talking about. But it sounded promising.

“You mean…you don’t mean to say you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall? Either of you?”

“Let’s pretend we haven’t”, Delphine leaned down on the table, “What’s Alduin’s Wall and what does it have to do with stopping the dragons?”

“Alduin’s Wall was where the ancient Blades recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return. Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries, but I’ve found it again. Not lost, you see, just forgotten. The Blades archives held so many secrets…I was only able to save a few scraps.”

Ylva got a closer look at the map he pointed at. The map was drawn in a style she was not familiar with, but if it was showing a map of the Reach, she was pretty sure the place he was talking about was around the Karthspire.

“So you think that Alduin’s Wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin?”, Delphine went on.

“Well, yes, but…there’s no guarantee, of course”, Esbern explained.

“Anything that can help me destroy the World Eater is fine by me”, Ylva looked up, “He’s already sending his underlings after me.”

“Sky Haven Temple it is, then”, Delphine agreed, “I knew you’d have something for us, Esbern.”

“I know the area in the Reach that Esbern’s talking about. Near what’s now known as Karthspire, in the Karth River canyon”, the Breton addressed Ylva.

“Yes, I came to the same conclusion”, Ylva nodded.

“We can meet you there, or all travel together, your call”, Delphine offered.

“Oh? You’re actually giving me a choice for once?”, she mockingly raised her eyebrows.

“Well, you showed me that you can do stuff your way. You said you’d find Esbern without mingling with the Thieves Guild and you held true to your word”, Delphine crossed her arms in front of her chest, “I clearly underestimated you. So it’s your call. You want to travel together or as a group?”

“We’ll meet you at Karthspire. I doubt I will get a minute rest when we travel with you”, Ylva said.

“Your call. Might be safer to travel separately – attract less attention that way”, Delphine seemed to have overheard her insult, “Don’t worry, I’ll get Esbern there in one piece. We’ll wait for you near Karthspire. Good luck.”

“Come on princess, let’s go home and sleep”, Bishop suggested.

“Yes. Good luck you two as well. And we’ll be taking the horse with us to the Whiterun Stables. You will be traveling by foot”, Ylva reminded them.

“Thought as much”, Esbern nodded.

“See you at the Karthspire”, Ylva waved them goodbye.


	44. Karthspire

By the time they reached the Lodge, Ylva was already dozing off. Years on horseback made her a good rider that she wasn’t sliding down, her thighs held on more on muscle memory than on control. Seeing her that way, the ranger could only shake his head. She had insisted to deliver the horse to the Stables before returning home even though he had urged her to rest.

The horses were relieved to finally see their stable and eagerly walked over the small bridge. Before he relieved Allie of her rider, Bishop went to open the Lodge. Ylva had not said it out loud, but he knew that she feared that the Thalmor would now target her home. His hand rested on his knife when he pushed open the door. There was a fire burning in the small fireplace in the study and there were noises coming from his room. Careful he moved closer.

“Oh, it’s you!”, Bishop exclaimed surprised when he recognized the raven-haired housecarl.

“TALOS!”, Lydia jumped upon hearing his voice, “You scared me!”

“Sorry”, he couldn’t help but grin, “I was making sure you weren’t an intruder.”

“No, I’m most certainly not!”, the young woman crossed her arms in front of her chest, “Where’s the Thane?”

“With the horses. She fell asleep riding”, Bishop explained as he turned around to fetch her, “Do you mind to help me with the horses? Then you can explain to me what you’re doing in my room.”

“Your room?”, Lydia’s critical gaze bore into his back, “As of now, this is my room. The Thane had left me a letter saying that much. She’s really afraid of someone breaking in and asked me to stay here at all times.”

“I guess that means I get to sleep in the large bed from now on”, the ranger realized. When was she planning on telling him that?

“But don’t you take advantage of that”, Lydia warned, “I’ll always be close.”

“She has the power to freeze me to an icicle or burn me alive if I try anything”, he reminded her, “I don’t think she has to be worried about anything.”

They had reached the horses and somehow, Ylva still was in the saddle.

“Time to go to bed, princess”, the ranger smirked as he heaved her out of the saddle. She groaned, resisting his hold for a moment. Then her head rolled forward and she went limp like a wet sack of flour. She wasn’t too heavy, even though her armor weighed a third of what she weighed without it. Throwing her arms around his neck he secured his hold on her.

“Can you unsaddle the horses while I take care of her?”, the ranger asked the housecarl.

“Go on ahead, I’ll be fine”, she nodded.

“Bishop”, Ylva softly moaned.

“Nice dreams, huh?”, the ranger chucked as he carried her into the house. Carefully he moved up the stairs to her bedroom and put her down on the mattress. She was still sound asleep.

“Sleep of the dead”, Bishop scratched his head, unsure whether he should strip the armor down or help Lydia with the horses. _That girl can take care of the horses on her own,_ he decided and pulled off her boots.

By the time he had her stripped to her linen breeches and shirt, the ranger was ready to fall into the bed next to her and sleep, but forced himself to go down to check on the girl.  Just as he walked down the stairs she came in with his saddle in her arms.

“Both horses have something to eat. I’ll get their blankets to keep them warm, their fur is still wet from sweat”, Lydia explained, “Does the Thane need me to do something else?”

“All she needs is sleep and proper food”, the ranger yawned, “We didn’t get much of that over the last days.”

“I took the liberty to restock the kitchen when you were gone”, Lydia explained, “So food won’t be a problem. But whatever have you two been up to?”

“Long story”, Bishop replied, “And not mine to tell. Ask her tomorrow.”

Yawning he turned around and moved up the stairs.

“Night”, he mumbled.

Much to his disappointment, he saw that his spot in the bed was already taken up. Karnwyr had used his absence to sneak into the bed and took up his spot. Cursing under his breath he slid out of his armor.

“Move over, buddy”, he growled as he tugged on the blanket to slide under. Karnwyr looked at him and yawned, but made some space for him to lay somewhat comfortably.

“I’ll get you back on that, you mutt”, the ranger swore as he drifted off into sleep.

 

Something wet and cold touched her face. Startled she jerked awake, her hands fumbling around in search for her ax. Two smart eyes were looking at her puzzled. Blinking, she slowly realized that she was looking into Karnwyr’s eyes. The wolf settled back down on her lap. Scratching him between his ears she looked around. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten into her bed.

“Mhmm”, with a low rumble, the ranger turned over, making her aware of his presence. His unruly hair was sticking out in all directions and his face was smeared with dust and dirt. A quick look at herself and her bed sheets revealed that she was in no better shape.

“I guess I should go take a shower”, she mumbled.

Carefully she tried to slip out of bed without waking the ranger. A strong arm reached around and pulled her back.

“You’re going nowhere, princess”, Bishop yawned.

“Did I wake you up?”, Ylva asked surprised.

“Maybe”, he pulled her even closer, “Try and sleep some more.”

“Come on, shouldn’t we get going?”, she complained, “I mean, Esbern and Delphine probably left yesterday.”

“The horses need rest and so do you”, he countered, “They are on foot and we’re on horseback. We’ll be there on time. Now shut up and sleep.”

“If you insist”, she enjoyed the warmth of his body and his closeness. _Maybe some more hours wouldn’t hurt._

 

The sun had passed their highest point when they finally got out of bed and took a much-needed shower. Once refreshed Ylva was confronted by Lydia. The young woman wanted to know what had happened. Several rumors were floating around Whiterun and she wanted clarity. Bishop grinned and disappeared into the kitchen to let them talk. Realizing that there was no escape from this, Ylva sat down with her housecarl and answered the questions without giving too much information.

 “The Jarl will not be thrilled”, Lydia looked at her with a frown. She knew that she had to tell the Jarl and Ylva understood how that made the young warrior feel.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it would get me closer to fight Alduin”, she explained, “And whatever the Jarl expects from me, I don’t only serve him, I’ve got the whole of Skyrim to think about.”

“Yes, my Thane”, the young housecarl sighed. For a moment she stayed silent, watching Ylva with a pensively.

“And what about that ranger?”, she finally asked, “What shall I say about him?”

“Why should you say anything about him?”, Ylva was confused by the other woman’s question, “Why should it be the Jarl’s interest anyway?”

“Not to the Jarl, my Thane”, the young warrior explained, “The people. I mean you barely are seen apart anymore. Whenever word reaches us about you there’s always talk of him too. And now I come here and you let him sleep in your bed and even shower _with_ him. What’s going on?”

“I told you I don’t care for gossip”, Ylva leaned forward, “I’ve got enough stuff on my hands to deal with. _Don’t_ bring this up _again.”_

“As you wish, my Thane”, Lydia ducked like a scolded child.

Immediately regretting her sharp tone when she saw the others reaction, she added in a warmer tone: “Why don’t you check on the horses?”

Nodding, the raven-haired woman stood up and left. Ylva watched her leave and rubbed a hand over her face. _I better write a short letter to the Jarl explaining some stuff._ Moving into her study she took out paper, inkpot, and quill and began to write. The words of her housecarl echoed through her head. ‘ _What about the ranger?’,_ that was a question she had no answer. From the way he acted around her, she knew that she was important to him. But did he love her? She was afraid to confront him with that. He was no man of commitment; would she scare him away when she confessed to him? No, better to keep quiet and enjoy his company while she could.

 

The sun was barely out when Ylva and Bishop swung themselves into the saddle the next morning. While she hated to admit it, he had been right that they needed a break. Both riders and horses were well rested and eager for their journey. Ylva had decided to take the road towards Solitude but instead turning right on the crossroads connecting Falkreath Hold, Reach and Whiterun Hold they would take the road leading into the Karth River Cannon.  Kyne seemed to be on their side as well, the sun was out and it was decently warm for Frostfall. With only a short break enjoying some delicious chicken dumplings Ylva had made the day before they reached the meeting point in the late afternoon.

“Finally!”, Delphine theatrically threw her hand in the air”, We thought we’d have to do this without you!”

“As if you’d actually made your own hands dirty”, Ylva shot back as she jumped down from Allie.

“It would appear that Forsworn have taken over the place”, Esbern suggested, ignoring the angry glances between both women.

“That’s not our only problem!”, Ylva felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as the dragon souls within her felt the closeness of a brethren. Suddenly a shadow flew over them.

“DRAGON!”, she thundered as she reached for her bow.

“Damn it”, the ranger cursed next to her.

The dragon flew over the Forsworn Camp. Within the blink of an eye, magic was thrown at the dragon from all directions of the Karthspirecamp. The dragon roared and spew fire down at the Forsworn, turning in the air to come to Ylva and her group. Gathering her breath, she aimed for its wings.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The scaled beast staggered midair but continued to fly towards them. The stagger gave her enough time to get her helmet on her head to protect her from the fiery breath then aimed at them.

“I stopped doing this a long time ago”, Esbern remarked as she shielded the old man from the dragon’s attack.

“Aim for its wings to bring it down”, she advised him, while she did the same with her bow and arrow. He cast a spell on himself, his skin becoming dark like Ebony before letting lightning spring from his hands.

Thanks to the dragon, the Forsworn were also made aware of their approach. Some came running towards them, their makeshift weapons ready in their hands. Delphine drew her own sword and tackled them while Bishop supported her with arrows.

A loud screech pulled her attention back to the dragon. A wing was badly hurt and it tried to get away from the arrows and magic aimed at it. Struggling to land on a wide area on the other side of the Cannon it crashed into the ground.

“I go and kill that thing”, Ylva shouted towards her companions, “Are you gonna be all right?”

“Are you insane?”, Bishop bellowed back, but the others just nodded while fighting off the Forsworn.

“Maybe”, she grinned as she gathered her breath, “WHULD!”

Instantly she was on the other side of the small river and on her way up to where the dragon hat hit the ground. It had skidded several feet, tearing up the ground. She knew it could sense her approach and it was already turning around towards her. Jumping to her right, she dodged its sharp teeth. With all her force she hacked in the dragon’s throat. It screeched and tried to bite her again, but like before she managed to dodge it.

“SU!”, she let the Elemental Fury give her axes more speed and force. The scales didn’t protect the dragon long enough and soon. With a long final screech, it died. Ylva gasped for air as the soul was sucked into her. As its power run through her words echoed in her mind: _Alduin is seeing all._ A shudder ran through her and she suddenly felt cold, despite the power within her. 

From behind she heard screaming and the noises of battle. The others were still fighting the Forsworn. Pulling her gaze from the dragon bones she turned around to rejoin the fight. As she reached the riverbank, she could see that the trio had managed to work their way to the heart of the Forsworn Camp with a number of corpses left behind. The horses had shied away towards the bridge. Knowing that Allie would come back as soon as it was safe enough Ylva looked for Bishop. He was leaning against a stone wall, hiding from ice spells of a Forsworn Ravager. Quickly she readied her breath.

“WHULD!”

This time she wasn’t as lucky and landed in the river. Ice-cold river water entered her boots. Grimacing she ran on, escaping the river and coming to Bishop's aid. As she came closer, she saw that there was some blood running down his face from a small cut.

“Bish, you’re bleeding!”, she exclaimed.

“Oh good, you’re still alive”, he snarled “We got a bigger problem. They have a hagraven.”

“I’ll take care of it”, she pushed past him.

“Watch the claws!”, he yelled after her.

The hagraven was fighting Delphine, while Esbern held off another forsworn. The Breton had bloody gashes on her face and arm but managed to keep the creature at a distance. When she jumped back to dodge the long claws, Ylva saw her chance.

“IIZ!”, she breathed. Ice encased the hagraven. Using the opening created the warrior sprinted forward and neatly decapitated the creature.

“Thanks”, Delphine breathed heavily.

“I’m in a bit of trouble here!”, Esbern called, apparently his magicka was almost running out. Swiftly turning, Ylva ran up the stairs to a small platform overseeing the camp. A Forsworn  Warlord stood encased in lightning. _Fucking lightning cloak,_ she cursed. Gritting her teeth for the following spasms she continued to run towards her enemy.

“SU!”, she shouted just as she reached her goal and let her axes dig into the exposed skin. The lightning ran through her but quickly died down as its caster breathed her last breath. Looking around Ylva couldn’t see any other Forsworn.

Coming back down she saw Esbern bending over the bleeding Delphine. Sighing she dug into her pouches and handed him two healing potions.

“Next time, take the time to prepare”, she remarked as she turned her back to them. She only had one person on her mind – Bishop. He was still leaning against the stone wall, his face pale as ash. Fear ran through her and she ran towards him.

“BISH!”, upon hearing his name the ranger looked at her.

“That fucking sword must have been poisoned”, he groaned.

“Let me see and keep still”, she pulled back his leather hood to better look at the cut. Green veins ran away from the cut. Without thinking, she placed her mouth over it and began to suck on the wound.

“The fuck?”, Bishop was taken by surprise. She pulled back, spitting green tinted blood. When the ranger tried to evade her second attempt she held his head still.  The poison tasted bitter on her tongue, making her feel woozy. After spitting out the second load she took a look at the cut. It looked a little less green, but there was still too much poison in his blood. Cursing she fumbled for her antidote potions. Giving the ranger one potion she quickly drank another to cancel the poison effects on herself. To her relief, some of the color returned to the ranger’s face.

“Thank the gods”, she sighed relieved.

“I’ll settle for thanking you”, the ranger smirked weakly.

“Seems your sense of humor survived”, she winked, “Now let me clean that cut.”

Setting down her backpack she took out a flask of water and a cloth. The ranger endured her care with a low growl.  With him taken care of, she looked around for the wolf.

“Where’s Karnwyr?”, she asked the ranger.

“With the horses”, Bishop replied, “At least he was running after them when the dragon landed.”

“Smart wolf, he knows he’s no match for a dragon”, she felt relieved that the wolf was in no danger.

“And you are?”, the ranger snapped, “How often do I have to tell you not run ahead without me?”

“The dragon was weakened already”, she gave back, “I gave it a quick death and that was it.”

“Argh!”, he put his hands on either side of her face, his amber eyes boring into hers, “You infuriating woman!”

He pulled her close and placed a fiery kiss on her lips.

“Are you done with your foreplay or do you need a moment?”, Delphine’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. The Breton seemed to be restored by Esbern’s care and the healing potions.

“Fuck off!”, Ylva retorted.

“What she said”, Bishop added.

“Please, we are very close”, Esbern urged them, “There is a cave up on the hill. Somewhere in the cave, there must be the entry to the Sky Haven Temple.”

“And we can probably expect a few more Forsworn as well”, the ranger observed, “I mean, all these bastards had to sleep somewhere…”

“Probably”, Ylva wasn’t looking forward to it, she was getting tired and her feet were still ice cold from the river water in her boots. Nevertheless, she pushed forward, leading them up the slope and into the cave. Inside there were only three Forsworn left that apparently hadn’t heard all the noise. The warrior charged forward, ending two of the remaining tribe members’ lives. The third fell to Delphine’s sword.

A small path led further into the cave. Following it, they reached a larger room with stairs leading up to three stone pillars.

“This looks promising”, Delphine looked around.

“Yes”, Esbern nodded, “Definitely early Akaviri stonework here.”

“We’ve got to get this bridge down. These pillars must have something to do with it”, the Breton continued.

“Yes. These are Akaviri symbols. Let’s see…you have the symbol for ‘King’…and ‘Warrior’ and of course the symbol for ‘Dragonborn’. That’s the one that appears to have a sort of arrow shape pointing downward at the bottom.”

“How about I turn those to ‘Dragonborn’ then?”, Ylva stepped forward and with a little push, the pillars let themselves be turned around. She had seen similar mechanics in Nordic ruins and wasn’t surprised when there was a loud crack and the stone bridge came crashing down.

“Whatever you did, it worked”, a small smile darted over Delphine’s face, “Let’s see what else those old Blades left in our way.”

Esbern went on first, eager to find out more. Despite his old age, he acted like a child that had just gotten a new toy sword, eager to test it out.

“Wait!”, he suddenly stopped.

“Why are you stopping?”, Delphine asked from behind.

“We should be careful here. There are symbols on the floor.”

“Probably pressure plates”, the ranger looked over Ylva’s shoulder.

Sighing Ylva stepped forward: “I’ll handle it.”

There was a path of Dragonborn symbols on the floor. Following it she reached a chain. Pulling on it there was a loud click.

“Looks safe now”, Delphine said, “Let’s move.”

“Yes, Yes!”, Esbern boomed, “I think we must be close to the entrance.”

They crossed another stone bridge that fell into place. Ylva overturned Esbern in case the Blades had more traps and puzzles in store for them. Going through a small corridor she reached a big opening in the cave. What she saw there made her stop in her tracks. From across the room, the likelihood of Reman Cyrodiil looked back at her. They had found Sky Haven Temple.


	45. Alduin's Wall

“Wonderful! Remarkably well-preserved, too!”, Esbern was excited, examining the huge head on the far side of the room. Bishop was skeptical. How should a giant head help Ylva with the dragon problem?

“Ah... here's the ‘blood seal’”, the old man bowed down and let his fingers glide over strange round tiles on the floor, “Another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by... well, blood.”

The ranger understood what he implied, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Your blood, Dragonborn”, Esbern turned to Ylva.

“Esbern's probably right. Try using your blood on the carved seal on the floor”, Delphine encouraged her further.

“Yeah, like blood is going to do anything to open a secret passageway”, Bishop remarked, “Were the old Blades vampires or something?”

“Let me at least try it, Bish”, Ylva had already taken off one of her gauntlets and took out her hunting knife, a small blade made from dragon bone and the left-over Ebony.

 “Look here!”, Esbern was moving on to the big head, “You see how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil. This whole place appears to be a shrine to Reman. He ended the Akaviri invasion under mysterious circumstances, you recall. After the so-called "battle" of Pale Pass, the Akaviri went into his service. This was the foundation stone of the Second Empire."

Kneeling down over the center of the strange circles, Ylva cut her palm, letting her blood drop onto the seal. When the large drops of blood hit the stones, they began to move and a strange light shone from them. As if by magic, the fire bowls lit up. The loud scratching sound of stone on stone alarmed them that the giant head moved back, revealing stairs leading up.

“That’s done it!”, Delphine exclaimed, “Look, it’s coming to life! You did it.”

The warrior struggled to get a healing potion out of her pouch with her good hand as she clenched the hurt one shut, trying to stop the bleeding. Seeing this, the ranger crouched down next to her and looked at the bleeding hand.

“I cut a little too deep”, she confessed, “That knife as sharp as fuck.”

“No kidding”, Bishop growled. When would this woman finally watch her own health? Gently he poured some water over the cut before he applied some healing potion.

“There’s the entrance”, the Breton called from the opening, “After you, Dragonborn. You should have the honor of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple.”

“And what an honor”, the ranger rolled his eyes, “To be the first to enter a stinky ruin?”

While he earned himself dismissing glares from both the Blades, he succeeded in making Ylva chuckle.

“Let’s see if there’s anything useful in there”, she winked at him as she got up and walked through the opening up the stairs. Before he could follow her directly, the old Nord pushed past him. Frowning at him, the ranger moved before the Breton could cut in as well. The stairs led to another door, that easily opened before them. Behind that were even more stairs. On either side of them were carvings. Esbern stopped at every other to inspect them.

“Fascinating! Original Akaviri bas-reliefs…almost entirely intact!”, he seemed thrilled, “Amazing…you can see how the Akaviri craftsmen were beginning to embrace the more flowing Nordic style…”

“We’re here for Alduin’s Wall, right, Esbern?”, Delphine interrupted him.

“Yes, of course”, with a shrug he pulled himself away from the reliefs, “We’ll have more time to look around later, I suppose. Let’s see what’s up ahead.”

“These Blades really loved stairs”, Ylva remarked as they reached a gigantic hall. Stairs lead to a seating area and other stairs lead to other floors.

“Shor’s bones!”, Esbern walked ahead of them, “Here it is! Alduin’s Wall…so well preserved.”

He held up his torch to examine the carving on the far side of the hall: “I’ve never seen a finer example of early second era Akaviri sculptural relief…”

“Esbern!”, Delphine called from a corner of the hall, lighting up the fire bowls there, “We need information, not a lecture on art history.”

“Yes, yes…Let’s see what we have…”

Ylva hesitated, looking for the ranger. This was the moment of truth for her. Would the Wall give her a weapon to defeat Alduin? Bishop took her hand in his and squeezed it.

“Look, here is Alduin”, Esbern gestured to a big dragon on the left side of the relief, “This panel goes back to the beginning of time when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim.”

He moved a little to the right and continued: “Here, the humans rebel against their dragon overlords – the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues – masters of the Voice – are arrayed against him.”

“So, does it show how they defeated him?”, Delphine paced around impatiently, “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Patience, my dear”, the old man wasn’t letting her distract him, “The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism.”

Scratching his head, he leaned forward: “Yes, yes. This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes – this is the Akaviri symbol for ‘Shout’. But…there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”

“You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin? You’re sure?”, Delphine seemed very unhappy with this turn of events.

“Hmm?”, Esbern turned to look at her, “Oh, yes. Presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return.”

“So we’re looking for a Shout, then. Damn it”, Delphine ran a hand over her face and turned to Ylva, “Have you ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

“No, I’ve never heard of anything like that”, her ponytail whipped through the air as she shook her head, “But I had hoped that something like that existed.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that”, the older woman sighed, “I guess there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to ask the Greybeards for help. I hoped to avoid involving them in this, but we have no other choice.”

Ylva cocked a quizzical eyebrow: “What do you have against the Greybeards?”

“If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do”, the Blade answered, “The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won’t use it. Think about it. Have they tried anything to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin?”

“I’ve already asked them about Alduin, but they blocked me off”, the warrior remembered.

“See? And they’re afraid of you, of your power. Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Greybeards?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not afraid of my own power”, she squared her shoulders. Bishop smiled warmly. No, she was definitely not afraid of her power, using it to help wherever she could.

“Good”, Delphine nodded, “The Greybeards can teach you a lot, but don’t let them turn you away from your destiny. You’re Dragonborn, and you’re the only one who can stop Alduin. Don’t forget it.”

“As if I ever _could_ ”, her hazel eyes narrowed at the Blade, “I’d better go see what Arngeir knows about this Shout, if the old man speaks to me at all, that is.”

“Right. Good thing they’ve already let you into their little cult. Not likely they’d help Esbern or me if we came calling. We’ll look around Sky Haven Temple and see what else the old Blades might have left for us. It’s a better hideout than I could have hoped for. Talos guard you.”

“Come, Bish, let’s find a place to sleep”, Ylva turned towards the ranger. Startled he realized that they were still holding hands.

“You want to stay here for the night?”, he raised an eyebrow. While the place was certainly large enough, he wouldn’t call it inviting.

“I’d rather not sleep in a tent anywhere in the Reach”, she explained, “Especially not with the blood of a whole tribe of Forsworn on our hands. Allie, Balo and Karnwyr are smart enough to find a safe place on their own.”

“Fair enough”, he didn’t want to wake up to a knife at his throat either, “But I left my bedroll with Balo.”

“Is that an excuse to get into mine?”, Ylva shook her head in mock frustration, “Even if it is, we’ll manage with just one bedroll for today. Come on now, I’m tired and I bet you are too.”

She was right. Even with the effects of potions, he still felt the aftermath of the battle in his bones. Turning away from the two Blades still inspecting the Wall for more hints, they took the stairs to the left side of the room. Lucky for them, the second room leading away from the stairs seemed to be an old dormitory. Several beds stood there, but there was no telling how old they were. There even was a fireplace in a corner of the room, some logs lay in front of it.

“When the old Blades left this place, they must have believed that they would come back soon”, Ylva stated as she walked over to the logs.

“YOL!”, fire shot from her mouth and lit up the wood, filling the room with both light and warmth.

“The wood seems very dry and old, it will burn fast”, she put down her backpack and untied her bedroll, “We better stay close to it.”

“As long as you stay close to me you won’t get cold princess”, he winked at her, “I’ll keep you warm.”

“I bet”, she yawned.

“Let’s get out of all that armor and into the bedroll”, he said more seriously this time. Ylva nodded and slipped out of her gauntlets. Her skilled fingers had peeled herself out of her armor in no time, revealing her beautiful figure. The armor she piled neatly at the feet of the bedroll, but her boots she put down in front of the fire. Seeing her stretch afterward, he felt a familiar twitch in his lower parts and his mouth became dry. How could he still want her so much even if every bone in his body hurt from the battle with the Forsworn?

Before he could act on his desire, she crawled into her bedroll. Bishop shook his head to clear it before stripping the rest of his armor and crawling in next to her. Her back was towards him and her head rested on her arm. Gently he put his arm around her waist, pulling her close. They fit together well, her head rested just below his chin if he stretched his neck a bit. _Are your bodies the only thing where you fit well together?,_ the voices chimed in.

“Did you take your hunting knife into the bedroll or is the little ranger looking for action?”, Ylva’s sleepy voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Never mind him”, Bishop kissed her neck, “He can’t help feeling excited when your sexy ass is rubbing against him.”

Feeling her cuddle up close to him and hearing her soft breathing he could tell that she was drifting off to sleep. Even though his balls were hurting with unfulfilled desire, he couldn’t bring himself to force her awake. Probing himself up on his elbow he watched her sleep. One hand lay under her cheek while the other curled up, lightly touching her forehead. The warpaint was smudged and in some places gone completely where she had wiped off blood splatters.

The thought of blood brought back the events of the last hours. When she had run off to kill the dragon his heart had nearly stopped beating. Even if the dragon had been weakened, it could have still been deadly to her. Every moment she had been gone from his sight, he had feared that she would not return. If the Forsworn bastards hadn’t been so persistent at fighting him he would have jumped into the river to run after her. He didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t returned to him. It was plain: without her, he was lost. He _needed_ her, needed to be close to her and protect her at all cost. Even if he didn’t like to admit it to himself, he loved her with all his heart and gladly would give his life for hers. _her, she was_

Leaning forward he placed a gentle kiss on her temple and whispered: “Sweet dreams my precious princess.”

 

Ylva woke up shivering, her nose cold as ice. Carefully opening an eye, she saw that the fire had gone out. Only the warmth of Bishop’s body remained to ward off the cold. Only little light came through the windows on the far side of the room, making telling the time very difficult. Pulling the bedroll tighter around them she thought of the last revelation. The weapon to defeat Alduin was a Thu’um. And if she had interpreted the middle piece of Aludin’s Wall correctly, it was one that would knock a dragon out of the sky. If such a shout existed, it would be a most useful tool against them. But would the Greybeards really tell her the secret to it? She knew that they were withholding information from her, maybe that was her key to uncover more? Anyway, before she should seek them out she needed to go to Whiterun and deal with both the Jarl and the Companions. She had been away far too long. If she wanted to be a good Harbinger, she needed to be with her Shield-Siblings, take counsel with them and decide which road to go in the future.

“What is bothering you, princess?”, Bishop murmured, pulling her close, “You’re restless.”

“Where to go next”, she answered truthfully.

“And? What have you decided?”, he gently nibbled on her ear.

“To go home, to see my Shield-Siblings”, she turned a bit to look at him.

“So, no storming off to High Hrothgar right away?”, he looked surprised and relieved at the same time.

“No”, she gently let her fingers run through his unruly hair, “Facing Alduin at the end of time might be my destiny, but I can’t neglect my other duties any longer.”

Bishop stiffened at her remark but stayed silent. Nevertheless, his arm tightened around her waist.

 

Later, as they were packing up and getting back into their dirty and bloody armor, he approached her with a look on his face that she couldn’t quite place.

“Hey princess, here’s something I’ve had quite a long time”, he began, the tone far away from the usual cheekiness he faced the world with. For a moment she looked at him irritated.

“What do you want to give me?”, she finally asked.

“It’s not much of a use to me, but women love trinkets like these”, he held something in his hand, “I want you to have it. It fits you better.”

Looking into the outstretched hand she saw a glimmer of silver in the light of the room. Hesitatingly she reached for it. To her surprise, she realized it was his silver wolf ring.

“Your ring?”, her eyebrows narrowed at the silver band in her hand, “I’ve never seen you take it off.”

The way he handled it, she knew that this ring meant a lot to him. Why on Nirn was he giving it to her now? She looked at the ring in her palm and then to him, unsure if she should really keep it.

“The only girl I’ve had my eyes on all this time is you and you alone, ladyship”, his amber eyes were staring into hers intensively as he placed his hand over hers closing it around the ring, “Keep it. If some envious wenches try and come get it from you, just shout them into pieces for me.”

“Thank you, Bishop”, she said and meant it.

“You can thank me later, and very thoroughly, between the sheets Ladyship”, he winked at her, breaking the magic of the moment. Maybe because he was embarrassed, or maybe because of something else, he turned away from her. A little too late she realized she had missed her opportunity to tell him how she felt, how much he meant to her. _Gods damn it, Ylva,_ she thought to herself, _how can you be so fucking slow?_ She tried the ring on her finger, but of course, it didn’t fit. Besides, a ring would be uncomfortable during battle anyway. A thought crossed her mind and with a smile, she pulled off her amulet. Fumbling open the knot of the thin leather strap she let the silver band glide on to it. Retying the knot, she slipped the amulet back on. Now both her treasures would stay safe and close to her heart at all times.


	46. Forsworn

Ylva was relieved when they reunited with the horses and the wolf. Finally, she could turn her back on Delphine and her madness, at least for the moment. Learning that the weapon she had hoped for was a Shout, she felt disappointed. All this trouble for this? Why couldn’t the old Blades at least incorporate the Rotmulaag for the Shout somewhere in the carving? It would have probably called out to her. Then again, nothing ever was simple.

When they came close to another bridge crossing over the Karth River, she heard voices at a small shrine to Dibella they had passed the day before. She signaled Bishop and they slowed down their horses, their hands already on their weapons. As they got closer they saw three people stand in front of the shrine. Ylva swallowed as she saw their attire. Forsworn, again. She got down from her horse and crept closer. The trio didn’t seem to be planning an assault, as far as she could tell.

“Oh, come on! An altar to Dibella, really, Robin?”, the red-headed man complained, “We took a detour for this? You don’t need Dibella! Are you going to charm all the Nords for us?”

“Where else are we going to find a shrine this far from the village?”, the woman shot back, “Going to pull one out of your furs? They die quieter when they’re charmed.”

The blond Forsworn in the middle sighed and turned to the woman: “Do you remember nothing mother taught us, Robin? Talk first, stab later. We have more urgent things to do than starting a slaughter.”

Ylva didn’t know what to make of the scene before her. Never had she encountered Forsworn like these. They seemed less savage than others she had met before, maybe even sophisticated. While she was still wondering if they should just ignore the trio or face them, Allie made a loud noise, alarming them. _Well then, facing them it is._

“Greetings Forsworn”, she said, her hands not moving away from her weapons. If one of them made a move, she would be quicker.

The blond man was the first to address them. From his stance and demeanor, she could tell he must be a person of great importance to his people, maybe their leader?

 “An intriguing woman approaches me at the Goddess of Beauty’s shrine”, his eyes darted to the hands on her axes, “without her weapons drawn. Do you by chance have a death wish? Has your life treated you so poorly that you’d make your friend watch as we tear you apart?”

Before she could answer he continued: “Or perhaps this is a clever trap. Capitalizing on my weakness for attractive women to put me in a false sense of security. If so…I approve.”

“Keep talking like that and I _will_ draw them”, she warned. Behind her, she felt Bishop stiffen.

“I do apologize. Should I spin around and scream like the people you believe us to be?”, the blond man’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, “I’m sure we’d get along perfectly.”

“You have an interesting attire for a jester”, she remarked. The Forsworn was wearing something similar she had seen Orc shamans wear – a long loincloth and a fur collar, but his chest was mostly bare. He had a tribal tattoo covering most of his chest and arms, giving him a wild and feral look. Ylva couldn’t help to find him attractive.

“Hmm, don’t blame me. This is how all my family dresses. Perhaps one day your travels will bring you to us”, he winked.

“Trust me, that’s the last thing you would want. Cause if I’m sent to your people, none of your family will survive to tell the tale”, she gave back unamused.

“Wait, you’re not just a curious traveler, are you?”, the smart eyes looked at her with a hint of recognition.

“The only other person that can shout you to pieces, apart from Ulfric”, she knew that the leader of the rebellion was known to any Forsworn after the bloody recapture of Markath.

“So you are the Dragonborn. It may be not wise to associate yourself with the Bear of the North. Less considerate men may assault you on sight”, he leaned his head to the side, giving her a thoughtful long glance, “I have heard of your beauty, but the fact you are speaking to me also shows your compassion. If I had known I would have introduced myself sooner.”

He straightened his back: “I am Cael, but like you, I am known by other names. The Raven of the Reach. Chieftain of the Rudahan tribe.”

“Is there a point to this?”, she asked.

“You are unique in that it is your soul, the essence of who you are, that we value. I would be a fool if I did not meet you at least once”, he slightly bowed his head in respect, “The strength you embody is a force that will not be reckoned with on the side of your enemy. Have you chosen which armies you ally yourself with?”

“I’m a Companion”, she replied, “I am on my own side.”

“A side I would like to be on, as would we all”, he smiled, “But being tied to the fate of the world comes with a choice, whether you like it or not.”

“If so, the choice remains my own to make”, she was careful. This Chieftain had a way with words that she only knew from mages and politicians. She could tell that he was trying to charm her, manipulate her even.

“There’s another choice. Freedom”, he made wide gesture, “Nords claim to fight for it, but they will roll over like dogs when they get what they want. My people are not what they have led you to believe. We share the same ancestors that form your soul. Help us become the rulers we once were.”

“ _My_ ancestors arrived from Atmora of Old”, she countered, “And my dragon soul has nothing to do with the likes of you. You can stop trying to charm me, Raven of the Reach. The Greybeards have a better sales pitch than you.”

“Old men must have such charms for you”, mirth sparkled in his eyes, “Perhaps you could teach my people. We might be able to resolve conflicts without drinking for once. But alas, my village is plagued by the attacks of another and I would not wish to endanger them by luring your enemies as well as mine.”

A frown overshadowed his handsome features for a moment, but it was gone when he looked into her eyes again.

“Before you go, take this”, he held out something for her, “A token of a ‘savage’ you thought could be more. It seems it was forsaken here. I doubt you need its powers, but it’s unique as you.”

Not daring to come any closer she looked at what he offered, only to find an amulet of Dibella dangling from his hand. Instead of the usual rich gold, this amulet was pure white.

“Are you calling me a discolored amulet?”, she cocked an eyebrow, not sure if she should feel complimented or insulted.

“Do I go too far? Your companion looks like he will growl me to death if I compliment you once more. Be wary, Dragonborn, jealousy is a vulgar trait”, Cael warned.

“Jealous?”, Bishop finally couldn’t hold it in anymore, just as she wanted to shoot a sharp comment back, “Of you? Now that’s funny. I haven’t given two shits since you started talking, Forsworn.”

Nevertheless, he moved in front of Ylva making her smile and shake her head. Of course, he was jealous.

“All right, that’s it”, the Forsworn woman spat, “Who cares if she’s the Dragonborn, Cael?! We’d be doing her a favor if we got rid of this moron!”

 Without thinking, Ylva had drawn out her ax from its place on her belt. If the woman only moved an inch closer to the ranger she would be dead.

“Oh please try it”, Bishop mocked her, “I’d love nothing better right now than to get rid of his whore.”

“Woah Woah Woah!”, the other Forsworn moved in, “Robin is his sister! Speak about her like that and we’ll ALL cut out your eyes!”

“Sister? That’s his sister?”, the ranger continued, knowing that he was treading on dangerous ground, “I’ve seen tavern wenches wearing more than what she…no what all of you combined have on!”

“Enough! All of you”, Cael’s voice was quiet but commanding, “As for you ranger, keep your eyes off my sister or I will hunt you down and remove them from your skull.”

Ylva couldn’t help it, but she felt hot anger rise in her chest. The ranger was hers, and hers alone. That someone could think differently made her furious.

“Pfft, your sister is the furthest thing from my mind when I have the Dragonborn in my sights”, the ranger’s amber eyes found hers as he slightly turned towards her. There was something in them she had never seen before. Whatever it was, it was enough to calm her down enough to let her ax slide back into her belt.

“As for hunting me down, _don’t_ ”, Bishop turned to face the Forsworn leader directly, letting his physic be as threatening as his words, “It’ll be the first and last mistake you’ll ever make about me.”

“It was a mistake speaking to you at all”, the Chieftain glared right back at the ranger.

“And we’ve made the mistake of even listening. Let me solve that by leaving”, Bishop whistled, making both horses come up to them.

When both of them were back in the saddle, the ranger addressed Cael one last time, “Don’t think of following us, Forsworn.”

 

They rode in silence after that, each brooding over their own thoughts. Ylva sensed that the ranger was fuming with anger and jealousy. The encounter with the Forsworn Chieftain and his silver tongue wouldn’t sit well with him, that much she knew. If his behavior around other men trying to flirt with her was anything, it was predictable. Not feeling in an incredible rush to get back to Whiterun just yet, she decided to halt and make camp in the plains somewhere between the Western Watchtower and the Sleeping Tree Camp, a little of the road for a bit of much-needed break.

“Did you really think that he was interested in you?”, the ranger’s voice was sharp with accusation.

She had been rummaging through her backpack, her back towards the ranger. Hearing the tone in his voice, she straightened and turned to look at him.

“Excuse me?”, her eyebrows furled.

“You heard me. The Forsworn”, he glared at her, “If you really think that man was interested in you, then I have clearly misjudged your intelligence.”

“Clearly he had wanted something. Don’t take me for some love-struck girl”, she shot back.

“Well then, if you’re so smart, what do you think he wants?”, he crossed his arms.

“A powerful ally to his cause, a symbol, and beacon for his people, that’s what he wants”, she simply stated.

“To lure you in! Clearly, you’re blinded with infa..”, he began but then realized what she said, “Wait, what?”

“You think me so stupid that I would actually fall for that charade?”, now she was the accusing one, “I know what I’m doing!”

“No, you don’t. He’s Forsworn! You think that if you weren’t the Dragonborn that he would spare you from some bloody ritual! Don’t kid yourself. He knew what he was doing and you took the bait”, the ranger raged on, “He wants the Dragonborn, not you. A woman with the soul of a dragon would make for a thrilling hunt don’t ya think? Doesn’t matter _who_ that woman is. You do best to remember that the next time he’s wielding that honey-coated dagger of a tongue!”

Her hand itched with the need to slap him across the face then and there. Only her iron will and love for him fought the urge down. Instead, she did the second thing crossing her mind. Her hand reached into his short hair, pulling him down into a passionate kiss. For a moment he was dumbstruck and didn’t move at all. Then his arms circled around her, pulling her close. She tugged on his hair, making him pull back and hiss in pain. He got back at her when he bit her lower lip, drawing blood.

“I love kissing you when you’re angry”, he smiled that devilish smile she found so irresistible, “Such spirit!”

“If you think I’ll let you off so easily you’re wrong!”, she pulled him into a second kiss. By the time she would be done with him, he’d think twice before doubting her loyalty again.

Their kiss became more frantic and wilder as it went on. His tongue danced around hers, challenging her for power. She felt her knees grow weak as the world blurred around them. All that mattered to her was the sensation of his captivating lips on hers, the chafing of his stubble on her cheeks and his wonderful smell of autumn with the promise of wildness. Her hand was still entangled in his hair. Using this to her advantage, she pulled his head away when her lungs began to scream for air. Instead, she kissed along his jawline and down his neck as far as she could reach. Breathing in, her fine senses filled with his scent, blocking out all others around her. He struggled against her grip and groaned as teeth left small marks on his skin. His hands pressed her so hard against his body that her armor dug into her body painfully. Hissing she let go of his hair. With a triumphant smirk, he began to work on her neck, a hand firmly holding her chin up and out of his way. His mouth left hot marks on her skin, possibly even more, as he gently sucked on it. Her fingers began working on his armor, finding every clasp and hook for opening. His pauldrons fell off into the grass, soon joined by his hood, bow, and quiver.

Every fiber of her body burned with the desire of being close to him. Their armors were suddenly a nuisance, getting out of it an urgent need she hardly could control. Their lips found each other again and again, only parting for the need to remove the layers keeping their bodies from touching. As they stripped, they stumbled and fell down. Ylva sharply sucked in the air through gritted teeth as her backside made contact with a hard stone hidden among the high grass of the Plains.

“You all right?”, the ranger’s husked voice was suddenly next to her ear.

“I don’t break easily”, she whispered back, her mouth dry with desire.

A flash of white blinded her as she looked up, but he quickly went back to work on her skin. They were naked now, only the sun and their own heat warding of the Frostfall chill. He made her turn around, pressing her chest down to the ground as he came up behind her. Feeling his hot breath on her neck made her shiver with delight. His hand reached around and without a warning, squeezed the bundle of nerves close to her entrance. She yelped, surprised by his roughness.

“I’m the only one that can make you feel that way”, his voice was a low rumble with a hint of threat in it, “Always remember that.”

Stifling a moan against the back of her fist she writhed as he continued to tease her. He was anything but gentle, still, her body replied eagerly. Her whole body was shivering with lust and she rubbed against him, felling his erection press into her back. With a thrust knocking all the air out of her, he sheathed himself to the root. He didn’t give her time to adjust and set a hard and quick pace. On every thrust he hit her womb, making her scream on the edge between lust and pain. Her hands grabbed fists full of grass to steady her against his continued pounding. Moans turned into screams of pleasure. Travelers on the road might easily think that wild beasts were devouring each other.

Suddenly he pulled out, making her inside scream in protest. But then he turned her around, his hungry eyes heavy-lidded and dark with unspoken promises.

“I want to look at you”, he rasped, “See the lewd look on your face.”

He pushed his knee between her thighs, forcing them to open for him. Helplessly she wrapped her legs around his hips as he again pressed himself all the way into her. She moaned loudly as pain and pleasure almost drove her over the edge. The stone she was sprawled upon dug into her back with every one of his powerful thrusts. On the edge of her consciousness, she knew that she would get a nasty bruise. But that wasn’t the only place her cinnamon hue gave way to blue. The insides of her thighs hurt every time he drove himself all the way into her. He wanted to leave his mark on her, in more ways than one. So did she. Her fingernails dug into the skin of his back, leaving red scratches from the nape of his neck down to his wonderful firm ass. He hissed at the pain but didn’t slow down. Instead, he bent down, leaving bite marks on her shoulder. Again, and again he stepped over the line between pain and pleasure. Every thrust, every bite, and every hot touch screamed ‘ _mine! mine!_ ’ and her body rose in answer ‘ _yours! always yours_!’. With a sudden shudder and groan, he emptied himself into her, his hot load coating her convulsing insides as she rode out the final waves of her orgasm.

For quite some time they lay still, each of them too exhausted to move. Bishop was the first to come back to life, the cold wind chilling his backside.

“Damn it, princess”, he grunted as he rolled off her, “I’m gonna need a healing potion for all the claw marks on my back.”

“Tough luck, ranger”, she took a deep breath, now that his weight was gone from her, “We only have two left. And I’d rather not use them in case that we actually might need them later, should a dragon decide to pop by.”

“You’re kidding, right?”, the idea of pulling on his shirt with the bloody scratches on his back apparently wasn’t that appealing to him.

“Well, you’re not the one having to ride with bruised thighs”, she playfully nudged him with her elbow.

“In my defense, you were asking for it”, he grinned back at her.

“I didn’t dislike it”, she grinned, still feeling the echo in her body.

“Didn’t dislike it, my ass”, he propped himself up on one arm, watching her face, “I bet even the Greybeards heard how much you enjoyed yourself.”

She wanted to slightly punch him again, but he caught her hand and disarmed her with a swift and gentle kiss.

“Come on, let’s get going before my balls freeze off”, he said when their lips parted.

Giggling, she replied: “That’s something we certainly don’t want to happen.”


	47. A lot of Explaining to do

The sun sent its rays down on the many rooftops, bathing the city on the hill in orange-gold light. Life was already buzzing through its many streets. Standing still, Ylva hungrily drank the noises and scents of civilization. Telling from the *cling* of a hammer hitting metal, Adrianna was working her forge. The smell of fresh bread mingled with the strong smell of the forge fire. Had Carlotta been baking again? Above the noises rang a loud and clear voice, preaching Talos glory. Heimskr surely was not one for slacking off.

“What’s wrong, ladyship?”, Bishop had been watching her, “Don’t you want to go in?”

They were standing on the drawbridge, close to the city’s gate. Quite unlike her, Ylva felt nervous going in.

“I’ve been gone so long”, she finally said.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks”, the ranger pointed out, “They’ll still recognize you. Besides, didn’t you promise that housecarl of yours that you’ll be visiting the Jarl today?”

The moment they had stepped into Riverside Lodge the night before, the raven-haired woman had been pestering Ylva. Only when she finally had agreed to go see the Jarl first thing in the morning, Lydia had given them some piece.

“I’m _so_ not looking forward to explaining the deal with the Embassy to Balgruuf”, Ylva sighed.

“What should he do? Be pissed at you for doing everything you can to find a way to defeat Alduin?”, Bishop shrugged, “He’s a Jarl, but you are the _Dragonborn_. Stop worrying your pretty head and just get on with it.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Doesn’t mean that I look forward to it”, she looked up at the tall walls protecting Whiterun, above which Dragonsreach resided in the Cloud District. Forcing herself to move, she tore her eyes away and moved to the gate.

The guards at the gate nodded their head respectfully as they granted them entry to the city. With the gates opened, even more smells and sounds flooded her sharp senses and a smile crept on her face. This was her city, her _home._ Waving at Adrianna working her forge and nodding to Sigurd carrying several logs of firewood, possibly for Belethor’s shop she started walking. Following the streets of the city, she passed the marketplace. This early in the day many people were crowded in the small area. All of them greeted her with warm smiles. The tall man and wolf following her didn’t go unnoticed either. Bishop followed a step behind her, Karnwyr at his side, drawing several interested gazes from the townsfolk. With her fine hearing, she picked up whispers.

“The rumors are true, aren’t they?”, she overheard Ysolda say to Olfina.

“Did you doubt them? Let her have some fun, she’s only a woman”, Olfina whispered back.

 _By the gods, didn’t folks have better stuff to talk about?_ Ylva internally shook her head but continued on towards the Gildergreen. The young sapling had already started to grow into a luscious tree in the two years since she had brought it back from the Eldergleam Sanctuary. There, for a moment she hesitated. She had promised to go to the Jarl first, but hearing the noises of training from the huge wooden structure that was Jorrvaskr she wasn’t so sure she wanted to do that. Her heart yearned for her Shield-Siblings, just as much as the sense of duty compelled her onwards up the stairs.

The sense of duty won in the end. Within moments she was standing in the enormous throne room of Dragonsreach.

“What were you thinking!”, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater thundered, his head red with rage, “Killing off half the Thalmor stationed in Skyrim, in their own Embassy no less! Do you know in what position that put me in?”

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to!”, Ylva was just as outraged as the Jarl.

“You dare raise your voice against your Jarl?”, Proventus was scandalized.

“If she had really raised her Voice, none of you would live to tell the tale”, Bishop growled.

“Careful, ranger”, Irileth took a step towards the ranger.

“ENOUGH!”, Ylva’s breath tasted of sulfur and she felt the fire rumbling in her chest. The room went silent, even the servants looked up with a frightened look on their faces.

 “My Jarl, I may be your Thane but I have a duty to all Skyrim. And that duty is to solve our dragon problem. That duty can put me and those associated with me in difficult situations”, crossing her arms in front of her chest she continued: “You don’t have to understand the reasons behind my actions. But be assured, my Jarl, I wouldn’t do the things I did if I didn’t have another choice.”

For a long time, the Jarl was just looking at her. Finally, he slumped back onto his Throne.

“It’s true, your duty is to all of Skyrim”, he resigned, “Not just as Dragonborn but also as the Harbinger. But you are also a Thane and citizen of Whiterun, your actions always lead back to me.”

“And they lead back to Jorrvaskr”, she reminded him, “I know that my predecessors and forbears all look down on me and my actions. I will do my best to make them proud. So, if you don’t have anything else to talk about, I will resume my duty to them and return to Jorrvaskr.”

“Do as you wish”, he dismissed her with a disgruntled look on his face. Her own was twisted in a similar fashion when she turned away and began walking towards the grand doors at the far side of the hall.

“Quite a show you put on there, ladyship”, Bishop remarked as they were out of earshot.

“Remind me to rip Delphine’s head off her shoulders the next time I cross paths with her”, she snarled, “Were it not for her crazy ideas I wouldn’t have to put up with this crap.”

“Gladly”, a wicked smile crossed the ranger’s features.

 

When they reached the top of the stairs back down to the Wind District, Ylva took a moment and let her gaze wander. Below her, the city stretched out, with all the small and large houses, the shops and stalls and the people buzzing through it. Beyond the stone walls, Skyrim was calling to her. Whiterun was almost at the center of the cold and wild province. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel it calling out for her. Only when the anger in her chest had died down did she open her eyes. With a slight smile, she turned to Bish: “Let’s go.”

Steel landing on steel rang in the air as they came closer to Jorrvaskr. A strange nostalgia overcame her as her feet quickened their pace to pass the large wooden structure on the left, passing by the Underforge. How long ago was it, that she herself had been a whelp in training?

“Damn it, Torvar!”, she heard Farkas bark, “Keep your shield up!”

“I’m trying!”, the whelp gave back angrily.

“Glad to see you all working hard”, Ylva laughed, making all Companions stop in their tracks.

“Sis!”, Farkas boomed as he came towards her, gathering her in one of his big hugs, “You’re finally back home!”

Despite her heavy dragon armor, he easily lifted her up. Taking in his scent she realized that he smelled differently, even if only ever so slightly. When he let her go, she looked up to meet his eyes and smiled knowingly. Yes, the wildness of the beast was gone from him, he had come clean.

“So, you finally show your face around here again, sister”, Aela winked at her, as she casually fired another arrow at the training target.

“We were worried something had happened”, Vilkas admitted.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle”, Bishop remarked.

He and Bishop exchanged a glance, then both of them nodded. What was going on between them? Ylva frowned warily.

“So, did you learn anything useful of dragons?”, Aela lowered her bow.

“I still have no clue where they are coming from besides knowing that Alduin is the one raising them. But I didn’t really come closer to finding a weapon to bring down that bastard of a dragon”, Ylva admitted.

At her mention of the black dragon’s name, her Shield-Siblings were visibly shaken. Ria almost dropped her weapon and Nadja stared at her from wide eyes.

“My path will lead me back up the Throat of the World”, Ylva continued, “There may be a shout that can help me bring him down. And, I did get to kill some of his underlings.”

Farkas barking laughter shook everyone out of their frozen state. 

“You know, sis, you’re really horrible at sharing”, he managed to bring out between bursts of laughter, “How shall we bring glory to the companions if you kill every dragon out there?”

“I do hope you’re not planning on doing _that,_ princess”, the ranger’s tone was serious and warning.

“I’m not”, Ylva turned around to him and gently touched his face, “But I _will_ protect what’s important to me, no matter the costs.”

“Get a room!”, Aela rolled her eyes.

“I have a house, you know?”, Ylva bit back.

“I do hope you plan to stay a little longer than just to drop by”, Vilkas cut in.

By the looks of the faces turned towards her, that was a question that interested all of them.

“I want to stay as long as possible, but I’m afraid I don’t have much time”, Ylva recalled the words of the dragons she had slain, “Alduin already knows who I am and he knows that I grow stronger with every dragon he sends after me. He probably won’t risk me growing much stronger.”

Seeing the sad look on her siblings’ faces she quickly added: “But I will stay for the night, if not more.”

“Will you share your stories?”, Ria boomed.

“I will”, she smiled at the young warrior, “But I interrupted the training. Please, brother, continue!”

“You heard the Harbinger”, Farkas barked at the whelps, “Can’t have you run around Skyrim and put the name of the Companions to shame.”

Once the whelps were distracted, Ylva approached Vilkas.

“Brother, I believe you have some burning questions”, she began.

“As a matter of fact, I do”, Vilkas nodded, “Let’s go down to the old man’s office, where we can talk in private.”

With mixed feelings, Ylva followed her brother down. With everything happening in the last weeks, thoughts of Gramps had not crossed her mind. No, if she was honest with herself, she had kept those thoughts out of her head, busing herself with the tasks at hand and…well, the ranger certainly did a good job distracting her. Now, with the familiar smell of the living quarters, she had to face her grief. Seeing him in Ysgramor’s tomb may have relieved her of the guilt, but that couldn’t help her over the fact, that Kodlak was gone for good. And she had to fill his shoes, a task seemingly impossible.

Settling around the table in the corner of Kodlak’s study, she braced herself for the lecture she was expecting from her brother.

“All sorts of crazy stories came to our ears about you two”, Vilkas looked from her to the ranger and back, “First you show up on a ball, then you turn up at a Thalmor party of all places and next thing you are seen in Riften down in the Ratway. What in Oblivion were you thinking?”

“You think I did these things on a whim?”, the sharp remark slipped out before she could stop herself. Taking a breath to gather her thoughts she tried again: “A lot of stuff happened, ever since we…we freed Kodlak’s soul.”

Her throat tightened and her heart was heavy with grief.

“I think the last time we talked about my travels, it was when I came back from defeating the dragon at Kynesgrove, right?”, she asked once she regained control over her voice, “That crazy lady that took the horn suspected that the Thalmor held secrets to the dragons. Obviously, they would not give them to me, a Nord. I needed to get into the Embassy to search for those secrets. The ball was merely a cover to get in. Of course, the Thalmor didn’t know shit about the dragon or how to defeat Alduin, but they had something about a guy hiding in the Riften Ratway.”

“That explains why you were there”, Vilkas nodded, “But did you have to kill that many Thalmor Agents? These bastards have been on our tail ever since.”

“What would you have us do?”, Bishop cut in, “Bribe them or smooth talk them so that they give up their secrets? We’re talking about the Thalmor here. And they do have quite an interest in getting their hands on your sister.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”, Ylva blurted.

“Ah…well”, the ranger seemed to regret saying the last part, “When they got their hands on me at the Embassy, they said something about wanting to catch you to study dragons or something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”, she was angry that he had kept that a secret.

“They were going after us anyway after what we did there, so I didn’t think it would have made a difference!”, Bishop shot back.

“You got enough to worry about as it is”, Vilkas stepped in, “The ranger didn’t mean you harm.”

“Since when do you defend him?”, Ylva glared at her brother, “I thought you guys hated each other.”

“Not since he brought you back to us”, the ice blue eyes looked warmly down at her, making her bite back the remark on the tip of her tongue.

“I see”, she murmured.

“Anyway. Are there any other crazy…jobs in the future that could possibly endanger the Companions or harm our honor?”, Vilkas went on.

“Not if I can’t help it”, Ylva crossed her arms in front of her chest, “I hate doing stuff the sneaky way. I’m not a godsdamn thief or politician, I’m a Companion.”

“Glad to see that this hasn’t changed”, her brother grinned.

“Brother, I know that my actions in the last weeks put the Companions in a clinch. I put you and everybody else in danger, and I hate myself for that”, she felt both guilty and again angry at Delphine.

“I’m just glad you’re all right”, Vilkas sighed, “You were gone so long I started worrying that the role as a Harbinger might have been too much responsibility for you.”

“Have you ever known me as one to run away from my duties, brother?”, Ylva raised an eyebrow challenging.

“No, _you’d_ jump in straight-ahead abandoning your every need”, the tall Nord stated.

The ranger chuckled: “That’s dead on.”

“She _is_ my sister”, Vilkas smirked, “I have put up with her long before you arrived, ranger.”

“Can you two just cut it out? You getting along is too weird”, Ylva glared at both the ranger and her brother, “I’d rather want to know what I’ve missed the last weeks here.”

“Suit yourself”, Vilkas scratched his chin, “So…where do I start…?”


	48. Catching up with family

The three remaining members of the Circle had stayed at Ysgramor’s grave for two days before returning to Whiterun. The whelps had been eager to see them again, they had been restless and confused. No wonder, they had been left behind without so much an explanation why all the Circle members had suddenly decided to leave together. It had fallen to Vilkas to explain the importance of their actions without revealing the secret of the Blood to them. If the whelps had any suspicions yet, he wasn’t sure.

Over the course of the following weeks, they had concentrated on repairing the damage done by the Silver Hand and getting back into the routine of training. Both Aela and Farkas had taken it upon them to test the whelps on their worth of joining the ranks of the Circle, but despite their training, none of them had proven worthy. Njada and Athis were both experts in the use of their weapons, but they did not understand the importance of fighting together as a team. Torvar was under the meads charm, with no signs of ever getting his thirst under control. From all the whelps, Ria showed most potential to become a member of the Circle, but her skill with her blade was still lacking.

They needed fresh blood to fill up their ranks, that much was clear. With the dragons about and the war taking away many of the young and eager warriors in Skyrim, getting new members would be a problem.

“There’s a lad I met in Rorikstead that could probably be a good fit”, Ylva thought out loud after Vilkas had ended, “He’s the son of the innkeeper there and dreams of being an adventurer. The name’s Erik. I bet he would be thrilled to join if we ask him to.”

“How about that housecarl of yours?”, Vilkas suggested, “She already has some training.”

“Lydia?”, she scratched her head, “Wouldn’t that upset the Jarl?”

“Come on, princess”, the ranger encouraged her, “The girl is always begging you to let her follow you around. Allowing her to train as a Companion might get her off your back.”

“All right, I’ll ask her”, Ylva sighed, “And I’ll write a letter to Erik to come to join us. We should also talk to any able-bodied warriors that we meet when out on an errand.”

“You said that you wanted the Companions to be out there much more, how do you plan on doing that?”, her brother asked, “There are so few of us and too much work coming in. How shall we continue with the training _and_ send the people out?”

“As you said yourself, Njada’s and Athis’ skill in battle doesn’t need much training. Ria and Njada get along well enough so that these two can go on missions together, as can Athis and Torvar”, she explained, “I would recommend training them in pairs, also mixing the teams during training so that they learn to fight alongside with whomever they’re teamed up with. Much like Skjor did when Aela came to join.”

Her Shield-Sister had joined only when it was time for her trail, with only ever really fighting alongside her father. By that time, the twins and Ylva had been a practiced team. Skjor and Kodlak had spent many hours on training them in a way to work with different partners.

“We tried doing that, but Njada and Athis complained”, Vilkas confessed, “Maybe they’ll listen to you.”

“I’ll try”, Ylva smiled, “How about tonight we have a big celebration? It’s the first time we all have come together for quite some time.”

“Sounds good, I’ll tell Tilma”, her brother mirrored her smile.

 

The whelps were thrilled to hear that there was going to be a feast. While the preparations were undergoing, Ylva read through the letters and consulted with her other siblings. Bishop soon got bored and went out to hunt, taking the wolf with him. In many ways he was as wild as his wolf, she mused, being confined inside the walls of a city was unbearable for him. He only ever felt at piece out in nature, away from civilization – a sentiment she understood all too well. Paperwork and sitting around discussing was something she didn’t enjoy doing, but ever since she had joined the ranks of the Circle, it had become a part of her duties.

Time flew by and before long, the ranger had returned carrying the carcass of a deer across his shoulders. When he dropped the animal in front of the great hearth, Tilma came rushing towards him. Scolding him for the mess he made, she took him and the deer outside for skinning and gutting. Smiling as she saw the ranger go, she silently thanked him. By contributing to tonight’s feast, he earned himself a place among them. The others were getting used to seeing him around, but that didn’t mean that his presence was welcomed. He was not part of the Companions, nor would he ever be.

The smell of venison roasted over the hearth soon made all the Companions gather around in the great hall of Jorrvaskr.

“By the nine!” Tilma scolded the whelps when asked for the 3rd time how long the roast would take, “Good food needs time!”

Sensing that the hungry warriors were all too impatient and hungry, Ylva stood up from her place in the corner of the room and came to stand in front of the long table: “How about some stories then, to distract us of the goodly smell?”

“YES!”, Ria cheered.

Vilkas nodded in appreciation of her quick thinking. Catching her brother’s gaze, Ylva smiled and started: “We left off when I came back from collecting the Horn and bringing it to the Greybeards…”

 

Bishop leaned back against the wall, a slight smile on his lips as he listened to the telling of their adventures. Karnwyr had taken his place between his legs, contentedly gnawing on a thigh bone. From his spot, a bench next to the door towards the training yard, the ranger only could see the faces of the whelps on either side of the table. Ria’s face especially was interesting to watch. It was a vivid map of her emotions as she listened to the story, constantly changing between, awe, excitement, and admiration.

Ylva shared their victory of Thorn’s group of bandits, emphasizing the ranger’s cunning to buy them time while leaving out the bit of her ripping the bandit leader to shreds with her werewolf claws. Her story continued on towards their fight with the hagravens, bestowing Hircine’s curse to innocent travelers. Her brothers exchanged a telltale gaze, that luckily only Bishop noticed. The destruction of the Silver Hand she only briefly talked about, the memory still too painful in her mind. The whelps’ eyes were glued to her lips as she told the story of the grave of Ysgramor. Only in her version, the ranger had met up with them sooner and the reason she told they went was a different one, too. She told them, it was to honor a great Harbinger and also to get Ysgramor’s blessing for the future of the Companions. Bishop understood that it only was that the whelps wouldn’t know about the secret of the blood, still, he was a little sad that his big entrance was left out.

From the icy chills of Winterhold, where she shortly touched the fight with the dragon there, Ylva moved to the grandeur of the Grand Crystal Ball and the Thalmor Embassy. She put it plainly that she had hated doing both, and emphasized that, were she not the Dragonborn, that she would have never done such a feat. For a moment, the ranger wondered why she touched the subject at all. But when he saw Vilkas slightly nodding, he realized that this must have been his request. Finally, just as the roast was looking ready to be served, she told them of Skyhaven Temple and the discovery of Alduin’s Wall.

“…the Tongues of old had used a shout to bring down the World Eater. And it’s this shout that will bring me to the snowy heights of the Throat of the World once more”, she ended.

“What an adventure”, Ria leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“And adventurers need nourishment”, Tilma cut in, “Everybody, take your places, time to eat!”

When Ylva first made a move to sit down on her old chair, Farkas tapped the chair to his right: “This one sister. The Harbinger sits in the middle.”

For a moment she hesitated, her eyes searching for Bishop. The ranger nodded encouragingly. Even after everything the old man and her mother had said to her, and all the words of praise he had heard her siblings tell her, she still felt undeserving of this honor. Finally taking her place in the middle, she gestured the ranger to sit down on the large table as well.

“We can’t have the kind furtherer of tonight’s feast sit on a bench”, she smiled at him.

“True”, the ranger stood up, not without a complaining huff from Karnwyr. The wolf relocated together with his pack brother, taking the remains of his bone with him.

“A toast!”, the deep thundering of Farkas' voice demanded everyone’s attention, “On our Harbinger Ylva the Dragonborn! May her axes be as quick and sharp as dragon’s claws and her skill in battle unmatched!”

“Long life Harbinger Ylva!”, the gathering cheered. The woman in question raised her mug with a small smile and a red blush tinting the cinnamon skin of her face.

“You are all too kind”, she stood up, drawing everybody’s attention back to her, “But don’t let us forget about those that have made us who we are. Skjor and Kodlak taught us fighting, but they also taught us honor. They showed us that we can be strong if we fight together, that we are a family of kindred spirits, united in our strive for glory and the protection of Skyrim. Tonight, let’s celebrate and let the flames they ignited burn so bright that their spirits find their way back to us!”

“Aye! For Skjor! For Kodlak!”, the hall rumbled with the thunder born from many throats. The ranger couldn’t help but be infected by their passion, his own heart racing in his chest as he raised his mug of mead.

 

For two days they stayed in and around the city. While Ylva saw to her duties to the Companions, the ranger was out to hunt or to collect ingredients to replenish their supply of potions. Some of the nirnroots in her garden at the Lodge were also ready for harvesting, as well as some of the wheat, thanks to the mild climate in these parts of the province. With that, Ylva had enough supplies on their last evening to make enough potions, hopefully lasting them well beyond their journey to the Greybeards.

Only a candle shed some light on the two people cuddling on the bed that night. Ylva’s head rested on the ranger’s chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat. Her fingers traced the grooves on his stomach, setting his lean abs apart.

“You’re really quiet, ladyship”, Bishop gently stroked her hair, that loosely fell over her back with small locks at their ends, “Something’s eating at you?”

“I haven’t noticed”, she bent her head upwards, catching his eyes watching her. In the candlelight, they looked like Honeybrew mead, rich and golden.

“Come on, sweetness. Something’s been bugging you ever since we returned to Whiterun”, he gently brushed a lock behind her ear, “Is it your grandpa?”

“It’s true, I’ve been thinking about him”, she sighed and quietly added, “I miss him a lot.”

“I know”, his arm around her back tightened and he placed a kiss on her forehead, “You haven’t really allowed yourself to grieve for him.”

Again, he was looking past the mask she had been putting on, straight into her soul. How did he read her with such ease?

“You know I’m not the cuddly, romantical type”, he went on, “But I’m here for you if you need me.”

“Thanks, Bish”, she cuddled closer to him, leaned forward and placed a kiss on his cheek.

“Anything for you, sweetness”, he smiled sweetly.

“Just let me stay that way for a little while longer”, she whispered.

“Sure”, he squeezed her again.

She turned her head around, again nestling on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“You know, I used to listen to Kodlak’s heartbeat quite the same way”, she told him, “Back when I was only a young pup, back when my mom had died.”

“Oh?”, the ranger let his hand run through her hair.

“I had nightmares back then, keeping the twins up all night”, Ylva recalled, “I was afraid that something would happen to my father. I wanted to go to him and stay with him at all times. But of course, that wasn’t possible. Then I started sleepwalking around Jorrvaskr, scaring the shit out of the twins. Gramps allowed me to sleep beside him. He let me crawl unto his chest and told me of his adventures while I listened to both his soothing voice and his heartbeat. It never took me long to fall asleep that way. Sometimes he let me stay beside him, sometimes he carried me into bed.”

“Seems he loved you very much”, the ranger gently caressed her back.

“He always called me pup, even after I entered the Circle”, her voice was cracking and a tear rolled down her cheek, leaving a wet mark on her skin, “The twins would always make fun of that, but I loved it.”

“It’s fine sweetness”, the ranger kissed the crown of her head.

“I miss him so”, she sobbed, burying her face in his chest.

“I know”, he soothed.

Her shoulders quivered as she quietly sobbed. She had fought so hard to keep those feelings bottled up inside her, not wanting to trouble the people she cared about with them. But here, in the protection of her own home, in the arms of the one she loved above else, these feelings and bittersweet memories came rushing towards the surface. All the tears she had refused to show were now flowing freely, rolling down her face, dripping onto the ranger’s bare chest. The ranger held her close, not shying away or making her feel judged.

When the tears finally stopped, she shyly looked up: “Sorry for crying on you.”

“Don’t worry your head, sweetness. Are you feeling better now?”, he wiped away the wet stains on her face.

“Yes. Thank you Bish”, she placed a kiss on his cheek, then took the sleeve of the linen shirt she wore for sleeping and wiped away the puddle of tears.

“Now try to get some sleep”, the ranger kissed her forehead.

“You too”, she gently cubed his cheek.

With his arms around her and his body pressed against her back, she fell into a dreamless and deep sleep.


	49. The Leader of the Greybeards

Dark clouds loomed around the Throat of the World as the trio set out to climb up to the mountain path. The horses they had left at the inn, Ylva not wanting to risk a broken leg if a snowstorm should befall them. As it turned out, her gut hadn’t led her astray. They were only about a third of the way up to the monastery as the storm hit them. Pulling their cloaks tight around them they fought onward through wind and snow. When the storm got so bad that they could hardly see they set up tent and huddled close together for warmth. The storm let down after some hours, and they managed to reach the stone citadel with the last light of the day.

Warming her hands at a fire bowl, she sighed blissfully: “I can finally feel my fingers again.”

“My toes feel like they will fall off any minute”, the ranger complained, “The next time a storm looms over the fucking mountain you’ll listen to me and we’ll stay at the inn.”

Karnwyr huffed in agreement to his brother, and as if to make his disapproval even clearer, he shook himself, shooting bits of half-melted snow from his fur in all directions.

“I didn’t think it be that bad”, Ylva ruefully admitted, “And I didn’t want to waste a day sitting around doing nothing.”

“Dovahkiin”, a monk was approaching them, bowing respectfully.

“Master…Borri”, it took her a moment to remember his name, “Is Master Arngeir anywhere to be found?”

“Rok Praan”, Borri answered, slightly shaking his head.

“Oh, well. We might as well do the same”, Ylva answered, “Is there a kitchen or something and a corner where we could sleep?”

The monk nodded, gesturing them to follow.

“You understood what he said?”, the ranger asked as they walked behind the monk.

“The dragons within me translate it, sort of”, she explained, “Arngeir rests, so I guess he’s sleeping. If we can’t talk to him right away, we might as well get something warm to eat and then rest ourselves. Kyne knows that I could use a warm soup right now.”

“Daar”, Borri had let them into a great room with a long table placed around a fire pit, “Naak Ahrk Praan.”

On the table some plates with dried meat and grilled leeks. Looking around Ylva didn’t see any cooking pot, however. Turning back to the monk she smiled: “Thank you, Master Borri.”

“We should rest here and eat what’s left”, she explained to the ranger when the monk had disappeared, “I guess they don’t have a cooking pot up here.”

“So, no soup then?”, the ranger pouted, making her snort with laughter at the hilarious expression.

“I guess they wouldn’t complain if I use my pot over the fire there”, she chuckled, “Let’s see if I can make it work.”

While the ranger put down their bedrolls, she tried putting up the stand of her cooking pot, only to resign, deciding to hold the pot over the flames instead. Searching through her pack she took out two potatoes and a carrot, sat down on a chair and using her small cooking knife, began to peal. Chopping the vegetables into small dices, the then put them into her pot and poured some water over it and seasoned with salt, before sitting down on the table itself and holding her pot with her two axes over the fire.

“That’s the most creative way I’ve ever seen you or anyone else use axes”, Bishop observed when he came to her.

“If you want something, you gotta find a way to get it”, Ylva smiled, her eyes focused on the pot in fear of spilling its contents.

“I hope the soup will be done before your arms get tired”, a bemused smirk curled the corners of his mouth.

“I do hope that you will take over if that happens”, she grinned in return, “Cause if not, you won’t get anything to eat. You might want to check whether Karnwyr would be interested in the dried meat. Since I highly doubt that he will enjoy the soup.”

When the ranger sat down the plate with the dried meat, the wolf sniffed at it, then looked at his human brother, tilting his head.

“Sorry buddy, but I doubt there’s any fresh meat around here”, he said to him.

Reluctantly, the wolf bit into the meat. Seemingly judging it eatable, he devoured every last piece of it. Ylva heard his loud smacking noises nodded approvingly, happy that at least one of them was already taken care off. Much to her relief, the improvised cooking rack seemed to work just fine and the soup soon began to boil and spread a delicious scent in the room. Drawn by the smell, the ranger sat down beside her.

“This is the craziest cooking method”, he shook his head as he watched the pot.

“It works, and that’s what counts in the end”, she turned to the side and carefully placed the hot pot on the stone table to her other side, “I think it’s about ready.”

Her nose had been right, the soup was done, so the both of them sat down to enjoy it. Some other monk, probably drawn by the smell, poked his head into the room. When he saw that there won’t be enough, he shook his head and left.

“By the Nine, I’m really happy that I don’t have to stick around this place for too long at a time”, Ylva breathed as she observed him leaving, “Feels like a prison in here.”

“Mhm”, Bishop nodded his head in agreement.

The soup restored warmth to their core, making them both feel exhausted and sleepy. Deciding against finding Arngeir right away, they both slid into their bedrolls and quickly fell asleep.

 

Ylva found Arngeir the next day, sitting at a table, his head bowed over a book in his lap. When he noticed her presence, he looked up and greeted her: “Sky guard you.”

“I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin”, she decided that it was no use beating around the bush.

The old man’s friendly face suddenly changed into a mask of confusion and anger: “Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?”

“It was recorded on Alduin's Wall”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and squared her shoulders.

"The Blades! Of course”, he rubbed a wrinkly hand over his face, “They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?"

Furrowing at him, she said: “The Blades are helping me. I'm not their puppet.”

“No, no, of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been intemperate with you”, he sighed, “But heed my warning - the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have.”

“So, can you teach me this Shout?”, she questioned.

“No”, the monk loudly closed the book, “I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called "Dragonrend," but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice.”

“I thought you knew all the Words of Power. I mean, wasn’t that the point of being a Greybeard?”, she challenged him.

“But not Dragonrend. The knowledge of that Shout was lost in the time before history began. Perhaps only its creators ever knew it. But I am not the one to speak of it to you.”

“I’m getting the feeling you are afraid of it”, she observed, “What’s so bad about Dragonrend?”

“It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult”, the monk explained, “Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself.”

“If that’s what it takes to stop Alduin, I would do it. But if the shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?”, she was afraid of again standing at a blind end.

“Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question if he so chooses”, Arngeir replied.

Paarthurnax…where had she heard that name before? Right, they had mentioned their leader living up in seclusion up on the top of the Throat of the World.

“I need to speak to Paarthurnax, then”, she concluded.

“You weren't ready. You still aren't ready. But thanks to the Blades, you now have questions that only Paarthurnax can answer.”

“What do you have against the Blades? At least their helping me to find a way to defeat Alduin. Don’t you want me to defeat that monster?”, she was beginning to get angry at the monk. Why was it so hard to just tell her the truth?

The monk shook his head: “What I want is irrelevant. This Shout was used once before was it not? And here we are again. Have you considered that Alduin was not meant to be defeated? Those who overthrew him in ancient times only postponed the day of reckoning, they did not stop it. If the world is meant to end, so be it. Let it end and be reborn.”

For a long moment, she stared at him, unwilling to believe what she just heard.

“So you won’t help me?”, she stated.

“No”, the old man got up, “Not until you return to the path of wisdom.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw another monk come towards them. If her memory was right, his name was Einarth.

“Arngeir, Rok los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax!”, his voice was so strong with power that the air vibrated. Arngeir, she is the Dragonborn, the Stormcrown. She will talk to Paarthurnax.

Well, at least one of the monks is willing to help me, Ylva thought with a grim smirk spreading on her face.

“Dragonborn... wait”, Arngeir called out, “Forgive me. I was... intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make.”

“Will you show me the way to Paarthurnax now?”, she asked.

“Come”, he turned towards the hallway, “We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax.”

Finally, we’re getting somewhere, she thought as she followed the monk to a small door leading into the snowy courtyard of the monastery. Arngeir headed towards stairs leading up to an archway. A strong wind blew behind it, even though the clouds of yesterday’s snowstorm had disappeared completely and the sun shone brightly. The monk stopped on a platform in the middle of the stairs with a big fire pit at its center and turned towards her.

“The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate. I will show you how to open the way”, he explained.

“LOK VAH KOOR.”

The Rotmulaag appeared on the ground to the monk’s feet as he spoke them. Ylva felt the familiar pull and the whispers as she took them in. Visions of blue sky rushed through her mind, then the smell of blue mountain flowers as they bloom in the spring and suddenly, she felt the warmth of summer. As the meaning of the words echoed within herself the whispers died down, making her sigh with relief.

“I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies”, Arngeir announced, “This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well. Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time. The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit.”

Gold light engulfed the monk and herself, making her skin prickle as the old magic ran through her. The dragon souls within her roared, making her feel light headed. The dragon souls within her burned with power. To calm herself and them she took a deep breath and closed her eyes, feeling the Thu’um build in her chest.

“Thank you”, she bowed her head, acknowledging that the monk had gone against his will to honor her. Bracing herself, she went up the stairs to stand directly in front of the gateway to Paarthurnax.

The icy cold stung on her cheeks as she came close to the opening. Putting on her helmet to ward off both the cold and whatever foes might wait on the way to the top of the mountain, she pulled her fur coat tighter around her. Throwing a quick glance behind her, she saw that the ranger had readied himself in a similar fashion, having pulled his hood deep into his face.

“LOK VAH KOOR!”, with her shout rumbling through her chest, the wind died down and their path clear.

 

Nearly three hours they fought through deep snow, the occasional Ice Wraith and wind before the summit finally came into view. Again and again, Ylva had used her Voice to clear a bath for them, making her feel a little tired and frozen to the bone by the time they reached their goal. After a final bent and hike, they reached a plateau. It was eerily quiet. No wind was blowing anymore and a strange calmness lay over the place as if Kyne herself had blessed it. On the far side of the plateau, there was a Word Wall, but it was empty. Nothing pulled her towards it.

“So, where’s that Master of old men?”, Bishop remarked, “Looks like he’s not around. Hopefully, he’s not taking a nap somewhere under the snow.”

The loud flapping of leathery wings startled them as a huge shadow passed over them. Terror made both of them reach for their bows, only to find the dragon gracefully landing before her eyes.

“Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik”, the dragon had a calm and friendly voice, “I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah... my mountain?”

Ylva stood dumbstruck. This was Paarthurnax? A dragon?

“I wasn’t expecting you to be a dragon”, she blurted, not able to stop herself.

“I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you...”, the wise gaze of the scaled Grandmaster found hers, “Dovahkiin. Tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

“I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout”, she answered, holding his gaze, “Can you teach me?”

“Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov”, the dragon turned around towards the Word Wall, “By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!”

From his jaws, fire sprang forward: “YOL TOR SHUL!”

Where his flames had hit the stone, a Rotmulaag had formed itself. The voices in her head began to sing so suddenly, it made her flinch. The ranger looked at her with worry in his eyes as she staggered forward. The throbbing in her temples got stronger with each step until the word finally formed within her mind and vision of Skyrim’s sun on a clear day struck her. SHUL – the sun.

Once the flames died down, he turned towards them again: “A gift, Dovahkiin. Yol. Understand Fire as the dov do.”

Like with Arngeir, golden light engulfed both of them. Ylva felt the fire build in her chest, an inferno begging to be released.

“Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!”, the dragon encouraged.

If you ask that nicely, sure, she thought as she let her full Fire Breath lick at his pale mint scales.

“Aaah... yes!”, Paarthurnax seemed to smile if dragons could smile at all, “Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind.”

He spread his wings and flew up in the air, only to then land on top of the wall, where years of use seemed to have reduced the stone to a shadow of its former height.

“So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor... mortal. Even for one of Dovah Sos. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”, the Grandmaster asked.

“Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout?”, she tried again.

“Ah. I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin”, Paarthurnax tilted his head.

“The Greybeards didn’t want me to come at all”, Ylva commented.

“Hmm. Yes. They are very protective of me. Bahlaan fahdonne”, he continued, “But I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me. Your kind - joorre - mortals - created it as a weapon against the dov… the dragons. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even… comprehend its concepts.”

“How can I learn it, then?”, feeling as if she had reached another dead end, her heart sank.

“Drem. All in good time. First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu'um?”, the dragon’s gaze was fixed on her.

“Can’t you just answer the damn question?”, the ranger cut in.

“Bish!”, she shushed him.

“What?”, he shrugged, “We didn’t come here to chit-chat.”

Shaking her head, she answered the dragon’s question: “I need to stop Alduin.”

“Yes. Alduin... Zeymah. The elder brother. Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn”, a plethora of emotions showed in the wise eyes, “But why? Why must you stop Alduin?”

“I like this world. I don’t want it to end”, she said after thinking for a moment.

“Pruzah. As good a reason as any”, he retorted, “There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?”

“The next world will have to take care of itself”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Paaz. A fair answer”, he tilted his head again, as if in thought, “Ro fus... maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end... Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end may delay it. Those who work to delay the end may bring it closer. But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven – what you name Throat of the World?”

“No. Dragons like mountains, right?”, she guessed, slightly annoyed that the dragon again answered her question with one of his own. Still, she was beginning to like him. He wasn’t evading her like Delphine or the Greybeards were, he didn’t claim to guide her, he simply wanted to talk.  If anything, he was honest.

“True”, he nodded, “But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad... perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated.”

“Using the Dragonrend Shout, right?”, Bishop cut in, “Come on, get to the point already!”

“Bishop!”, she hissed again, throwing him an angry glance. This was her one chance to get some info out of that dragon and she wasn’t going to let him ruin it.

“Yes and no”, if he had offended the dragon, Paarthurnax didn’t show it, “Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to... defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

An Elder Scroll? Ylva had heard of those before. Mystical artifacts said to be from outside the time. Her own prophecy, the prophecy of Alduin returning and the last Dragonborn fighting him at the end of time, that was written in one of those, too.

“If they sent him adrift…are you saying the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time?”, she concluded.

“Not intentionally”, he confessed, “Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years, I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when.”

Confused she tried to piece everything together, to no avail: “How does any of this help me?”

“Tiid krent”, the dragon’s voice sounded harsh to her ears as he spoke, “Time was... shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here... to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound... With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to... cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”

“Do you know where I can find that Elder Scroll? I sure hope not that they are with the Moth Priests at the White-Gold Tower”, she worried. If so, that would mean a hell of a journey.

“Krosis. No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I”, Paarthurnax replied.

“Mhm…maybe Arngeir might have some idea”, she thought out loud, “Or those wizards up in Winterhold.”

Nodding, he encouraged her: “Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way.”

 

Ylva was in deep thought as they walked back down to High Hrothgar. She hadn’t imagined the Grandmaster of the Greybeards to be a dragon, nor that she would have to find a means to travel through time to learn her weapon against Alduin. This all sounded insane. She was no wizard and meddling with magic left a bad taste in her mouth. Then this business with the Elder Scroll. She had read about the Moth Priests, knew that they held several Elder Scrolls in their possession. Was hers among those? If so, wouldn’t they have been sent through time already and her hope was lost? Her only hope was to pray to the Nine that the scroll was somewhere in Skyrim.


	50. Looking for a Scroll

"Tell me again why we are in this godsforsaken town at the back of beyond?", the ranger cursed as he rubbed his hands together that have become stiff holding onto his reigns.

"Because Arngeir said that the College might have some info about that damn Elder Scroll", Ylva sighed, "I'd rather go check here first before I make that fucking long trip to the White-Gold Tower."

"I still can't get over the fact that you believed that dumb ass dragon", he fumed on, "Next, you'll get on a dragon's back and fly off with him, because he said he had a way of defeating Alduin."

"Bish, I'm out of options, you know that!", she snapped back, turning around to him with anger in her eyes. After seeing him desperately rubbing his fingers to get his feeling back, she suggested: "Come on, let's get ourselves a warm drink in the Frozen Hearth. I haven't felt my toes in a while and I don't care for Frostbite."

"I swear, when that bastard of a mageling still hangs around though, I will break more than just his nose", he warned her.

"If he is, I'll gladly shout him into pieces for you if he so much as comes close", she offered, "I don't care for his company as much as you do."

"I'll keep that offer in mind", the thought of the stuck-up nose Breton flying through the air after being hit by a Shout brought a grin on his face.

Lucky for the mage, or them, he wasn't sitting anywhere in the small tavern. Besides a drunk Nord sleeping on one of the tables and the innkeeper himself, no one was around. Ylva ordered them some stew and warm mead to warm their bellies and rented them a room for the night. Bishop watched her, as he thawed his fingers over the fire pit in the middle of the small room. Despite his Nord heritage, he hated the North of Skyrim. Especially damned Winterhold. It was always snowing here and a sharp and cold wind blew over from the ocean. The town was very small, despite being a hold capital. Even Morthal in its swamps or Dawnstar had more to offer than this ruin of a once so great city. The only reason that the town remained was the College, which was also the reason Ylva had dragged him here. Finding an Elder Scroll, a mythical object only heard of in legends, to jump back through time to learn that Dragonfall shout, or whatever. Hell, he had heard some messed up plans in his time, but this, this was just absolutely insane. But Ylva had trusted the dragon, so here they were.

"You think so loudly I can hear your mind working", she gently nudged him as she came to warm her own hands.

"You know this is insane, right? It's grasping at straws", he remarked.

"It's been grasping at straws since the beginning", she reminded him, "Wherever the path had let us, there always was the chance that the people sending us might be wrong, that there was nothing there to begin with."

"But...time travel?", the ranger scratched his chin as his growing scruff was itching. If they would get a bath later, he would have to shave it off.

"Breaking into the Embassy?", she lowered her voice and raised an eyebrow.

"At least that was still on Nirn and in this time", he complained.

"Let's talk with those mages after we got some food in our belly", she suggested, "It might not even be anywhere this side of Tamriel for all we know."

He couldn't argue with that, especially not when he smelled the rabbit stew and his stomach began to growl. The innkeeper's wife came over with two bowls of stew and they sat down at the table to eat, giving Karnwyr bits of rabbit and some jerky. In this frozen wasteland, the wolf hardly found anything worth hunting.

 

 

Since they had arrived in the early afternoon, there was still enough time to seek out the mages. At the entry to the narrow bridge, a mage stopped them: "Cross the bridge at your own peril! The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!"

 

"Such a warm welcome", Ylva muttered under her breath and then a little louder, "Why are you out here?"

"I am here to assist those seeking the wisdom of the College. And if, in the process, my presence helps to deter those who might seek to do harm, so be it. The more important question is: why are you here?", the woman drew back her hood to better look at them. With terror clenching her gut Ylva saw that the mage was an Altmer. Hopefully not a Thalmor in disguise?

"May I enter the College?", she said, hoping that her terror hadn't shown on her face.

"Perhaps. But what is it you expect to find within?", the Altmer continued questioning her.

"I just wanted to see what it looks like inside", she gave back, not risking the chance that the mage had ties to the Thalmor.

"Ha! Humor is often in short supply here. But I sense that perhaps you're after more than just that", the Altmer surprised them with an honest smile, "It would seem the College has what you seek. The question now is what you can offer the College. Not just anyone is allowed inside. Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic. A small test, if you will."

"Can we skip that? I don't intend to join the College. All I seek is information", the thought of her working magic would surely make her ancestors turn in their graves. Her gut told her, that the woman had no ties to the Aldmeri Dominion. Trusting in it, she continued: "I need that information to continue on my journey as Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn?", the almond eyes of the elf became wide with wonder, "It's been so long since we've had any contact with the Greybeards. Do you really have the Voice? I would be most impressed to see that."

"Careful what you wish for", the ranger remarked, "She could easily burn you to a crisp or freeze you."

"He's not wrong", she smirked, "So, what would you want? I can also try and clear of some of the snowfall."

"You can change the weather?", if the Altmer's eyes could get any larger, they would pop out of her head.

"Haven't tried it yet, but it may work", Ylva shrugged. Slightly turning to the side to not accidentally hit a guard, her companions or the mage, she aimed her Thu'um at the grey sky.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

It did stop snowing, but the clouds prevailed.

"And you just thought of doing that now?", the ranger gaped at her, "You know my balls were almost frozen to my saddle like an hour ago."

"It won't hold for long", she apologized, "And it would draw too much attention on us. If you rather fight a dragon because it was lured by my shouting, I'll gladly clear the skies on our way back."

"Point taken", Bishop grumbled.

"So the stories are true... you are Dragonborn!", the mage found her voice again, putting an end to their bickering, "Normally you'd need to show some aptitude with one of the schools of magics, but you... I think there is much that we can learn from each other. I think you'll be a superb addition to the College."

"Again, I'm not joining", Ylva insisted, "Just point me to the person knowing a lot of old books and the Merithic Era."

"That would be Urag gro-Shub. You'll find him in the Arcaneum. I can bring you there, Dragonborn", the Altmer bowed respectfully.

"Lead the way", she replied.

The mage turned around, sending a spell ahead of them to light the way across the narrow bridge. Like many of the houses of Winterhold, the Sea of Ghost had swallowed several parts of it, making the crossing dangerous in strong winds or with slippery soles. Reaching the entrance to the College, the gate magically swung open as the mage crossed over a tile on the floor with the same symbol as on the door. Most likely it recognized mages, Ylva mused as she passed it.

The College itself was a ring-shaped fortress with three buildings, all connected by walls that even a giant would feel small in contrast. In the middle of the great courtyard was a statue of a mage, his hands outstretched and his fingers curled. Maybe the sculpture had wanted to give it the effect of working magic. In front of it, there was something like a pond, sending a ray of blue light into the grey sky, bathing the courtyard in its unnatural light. Ylva had to admit, that despite her dislike for mages, she felt impressed. Nothing could compare to the beauty of the Skyforge though.

Stopping in front of the largest building, the mage turned around to them.

"The first door to the left will bring you to the Arcaneum", she explained, "Speak to its master, Urag gro-Shub, he might be able to help you."

"Thank you", Ylva gave the Altmer a smile.

"Maybe you will change your mind and join the College? I sense great magical potential in you", the mage said.

"Not going to happen", she insisted, "The Thu'um is magical enough."

Bidding the Altmer farewell, they entered the building, making their way up to the Arcaneum. They were greeted by an elder Orc, deep in reading of a book on his table.

"You are now in the Arcaneum, of which I am in charge. It might as well be my own little plane of Oblivion. Disrupt my Arcaneum, and I will have you torn apart by angry Atronachs", the Orc threatened, without so much as lifting his eyes from the book, "Now, do you require assistance?"

"I'm looking for an Elder Scroll", Ylva went up to the desk.

That sparked the Orc's interest: "And what do you plan to do with it? Do you even know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand girl?"

"Are you this charming to the students?", she shot back, "Do you have one or not?"

"Ha! You think that even if I did have one here, I would let you see it? It would be kept under the highest security. The greatest thief in the world wouldn't be able to lay a finger on it", Urag snorted.

"What about the Dragonborn?"

"What about...wait. Are you?", the Orc gave her a quick once-over, "Were you the one the Greybeards were calling?"

"As my armor made out of dragon bones seemingly isn't convincing enough, I'd demonstrate it, but I gather you are rather fond of your collection of books", she quirked an eyebrow, "Do you at least have any information on them?"

"Of course", the Orc seemed offended, "I'll bring everything we have on them, but it's not much. So don't get your hopes up. It's mostly lies, leavened with rumor and conjecture."

"Anything you have would be nice", she stated.

The Orc left them standing at his desk while he went through his library. From the look of it, he knew exactly where every book was and never pulled out a book that he put back. When he returned, he put two volumes on the table: "Here you go. Try not to spill anything on them."

Skimming over the titles, Ylva handed one book to Bishop, taking the other one back to two chairs standing in the middle of the room. Letting her fingers run over the leather of the book cover, she read the title again: Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls. Opening it up, she began to read but soon had to stop.

"This sounds like it was written by someone high on skooma", she said bewildered, "Do you have something?"

"Nope", the ranger skimmed over the pages, "Only something about some moths that doesn't seem to be very helpful."

"Damn it", Ylva got up and went back to the Orc.

"That...'Ruminations' book is incomprehensible", she stated.

"Aye", the mage nodded, "Aye, that's the work of Septimus Signus. He's the world's master of the nature of Elder Scrolls, but... well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long."

Ylva got the impression, that the Orc maybe meant gone in more than one way: "He's dead?"

"Oh no. I hope not", Urag shook his head, "But even I haven't seen him in years, and we were close. Became obsessed with the Dwemer. Took off north saying he had found some old artifact. Haven't seen him since. Somewhere in the ice fields, if you want to try to find him."

"Well, if he's that expert on Elder Scrolls than I have to find him", she said, "Cause none of this gibberish makes any sense."

"Good luck!", the Orc grinned.

"Come, let's get back to the inn and get a nice hot bath", she said to Bish when she came back to him.

"Good, almost feared you would want to go out there now", the ranger smirked.

"Even my insanity has its limits", she winked back, "I won't be going fighting the sea ghosts during the night. It's cold enough during the day."

As they walked out of the college and back to the inn, Bishop wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

"At times like this, I truly appreciate the joys of having such a woman as yourself in my sights", he winked, "The thought of you in my bed keeps me warm all over."

 

"Only if you bathe first!", she theatrically held her nose, "You reek."

"How about we get into the tub together this time?", a wolfish grin spread over his face, "I can wash your back."

"For someone who's balls have been almost frozen off an hour ago, you are quite daring", she gently nudged him, "But I guess I owe you one for dragging you all the way out here."

Entering the Frozen Hearth, Ylva called out to the innkeeper: "Dagur, can you get a bath ready for us?"

"You're lucky, I haven't gotten rid of the bath yet. The water is still somewhat warm and only used once", Dagur answered.

"Can you get us some hot water to freshen it up? I'm really not into lukewarm baths", she asked.

"I'll send my wife over in a bit", he nodded.

Heading for their room, Ylva got out of her armor, picked up the blue dress she always took with her when traveling and they headed for the room with the bathtub. Good that this place has so little patrons, Ylva thought as she slid out of her linen undergarments, In Whiterun everybody would be gossiping about us now, here they don't seem to be very interested in us.

"Don't put those clothes back on, I like what I see", the ranger's eyes caressed her every curve. Under his intense stare, she felt herself blushing.

"Stop staring and get out of your clothes, too!", she giggled as she climbed into the tub.

"Damn, I hope the innkeeper's wife soon comes with the water", she shuddered, "This is almost cold."

"I can warm you right up, darling", Bishop smirked as he pulled down his leather pants, "My staff will make you feel like you're on fire."

"A staff of fire and balls of ice", she snorted, "You're sure you haven't angered a mage?"

"The only enchantress around here is you, princess", he shot back, flashing his canines. The grin disappeared when his foot submerged in the not so lukewarm water though.

"You weren't kidding", he drew in his breath as he placed the second foot in the water.

"Makes a prince turn into a princess within seconds", she teased, running a hand through her auburn mane.

"Come here, you feisty minx!", he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer towards him, making her squeal. Her back leaned against his chest and her head rested on his shoulder.

"I thought you wanted to wash my back", she giggled.

"Later, maybe. For now, I'm enjoying the view", he gently kissed her neck.

"You know, I could try and warm that water a bit", she said.

"With what? Don't tell me you mean to pee in it!", the ranger teased her.

"I would never!", she was appalled that he even suggested something like that, "I meant with my Fire Breath."

"You're sure you won't burn either us or the inn down with it?", he cocked an eyebrow.

 

"I don't know. I hope not", she had to admit.

"Well, I guess there are enough mages close by to handle the fire if something bad happens", he shrugged, "Still, you better be careful."

Eager to see if she'd manage to control her flames, she closed her eyes. She remembered what Paarthurnax had told her about YOL: " _In your tongue, the word simply means "fire." It is change given form, power at its most primal. That is the true meaning of Yol - suleyk, power. You have it, as do all Dov. But power is inert without action and choice. Think of this as the fire builds in your su'um, in your breath. Su'um ahrk morah. What will you burn? What will you spare?"_

Concentrating on her will to heat up the water and only that, she gently spoke YOL. A flame shot from her mouth and the water felt a little warmer than before.

"I think it worked unless you just pissed yourself because you got scared", she said when she looked up at the ranger.

"No, I didn't", he let out his breath that he seemed to have held back. So he was a little scared, she thought smirking.

"Should I do it again? Cause the water is still cold as fuck", she asked.

"Well, you proved that you can do it without burning us or making the water boil, so go ahead", Bishop seemed more relaxed now.

Just as she breathed fire again the door opened and the innkeeper's wife came with the other water.

"What in Talos' name?", the woman nearly jumped seeing the fire coming out of Ylva's mouth.

"Sorry", she apologized, crossing her arms in front of her chest to cover her nakedness, "Didn't mean to scare you."

"I should be used to stuff like that with all the mages running around", the woman shook her head, "But don't do that again! You'll burn down the inn!"

"Do you have the warm water?", the ranger asked, "Cause if not, I'm afraid she will continue to do it until the water is warm enough for her."

"You are lucky I haven't spilled it", she replied as she brought the bucket with warm water over. She dumped the contents into the tub, filling it dangerously close to the edge. With that, the water finally had a bearable temperature.

"Don't make too much of a mess", she warned them, "Or it'll cost ya."

"We just want to wash up", Ylva promised.

"I thought you wanted to make it up to me?", Bishop gently nibbled on her shoulder when the innkeeper's wife had left them to themselves again.

"I only promised a bath together, nothing more", she teased, "Maybe you can convince me otherwise."

"Not now", he hugged her close, "I'm far too comfortable for that."

With a smile she nestled back into him and closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of his arms around her, sheltering her from the cold air.

 

Later she waited in the inn's main room, absentmindedly plaiting her hair to a long sideways braid, her eyes glued to the map in front of her. The ice fields were vast and for the most part no-man's-land, raw and wild. The landscape was ever changing too, with ice fields on the Sea of Ghosts breaking, drifting away and forming anew in the cold weather of Winterhold. How anybody freely could choose to spend their time out there was a mystery to her, especially how he would be able to survive.

"Trying to locate that mage?", the ranger bowed his head over the map when he rejoined her.

"More like trying to find a needle in a haystack", she frowned, "That Septimus Signus really must be out of his mind to go and live out there."

"Did I hear right?", a tall robed figure approached their table. With an uneasy feeling in her gut, she saw that it was an Altmer, dressed in College robes. Why were there so many High Elves walking around Winterhold? Was this another center of Thalmor operations?

"You are looking for Septimus Signus?", the mage asked.

"What does it matter to you?", Ylva replied.

"He's an old colleague of mine from the College", the Altmer explained, "I haven't seen him in a while, though I heard he was quite busy looking into the matter of a Dwemer mechanism he uncovered in the ice."

The tall man looked down on her map and placed a finger on an ice field north of a larger island in the north of Winterhold: "I think it was around here somewhere."

"Why are you helping us to find him?", Bishop asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"As I said, he's an old colleague. While he seems out of his mind most times, he can give interesting impulses for my research", the Altmer replied, "If you find him, tell him to come to see me some time."

"Yeah, sure", the ranger replied.

"I'm not sure we can trust the guy", Ylva whispered once the mage had retreated back to his room, "But anyplace is a good starting point. I guess it couldn't hurt to start looking there."

"You'll be the death of me, you know that?", Bishop shook his head in frustration.

"But you wouldn't have me any other way", she winked.


	51. Madmen and Dwemer

A strong wind blew the snow flakes in their faces as they rode with their heads bowed. They’ve been fighting the elements for hours now. Ylva’s feet felt like solid ice and her fingers hurt as they held on to her reigns. A horker watched from a nearby floe as they made their way further up north, following the shoreline of the island. The animals loved it around here, for only the most desperate of hunters came close to the ice fields and their thick layer of fat protected them from the frosty temperatures. Despite her Atmoran heritage, Ylva cursed the cold wind as it bit into her skin. Her ancestors would surely laugh at her if she would admit it out loud and so she kept her jaw clenched as she looked around for any traces of human activity.

Finally, she found something. Not far from the coast out in the sea, there swam a huge iceberg. Next to an opening swam a boat, tied to a wooden post. A field of floes led up to it. Pulling on her reigns, Ylva made Allie stop.

“Bish, I think I found something!”, she called through the wind, “Could be a small cave inside that ice berg, but it would get us out of this damned wind!”

“Don’t fall into the water!”, the ranger’s muffled voice reached her as he got down from Balo’s back.

“I don’t plan to”, she replied. As she observed the bobbing of the floes in the water, an idea popped into her mind.

“IIZ!”

Her Ice Breath made those floes it hit freeze together, creating an icy path for them. Carefully testing the thickness of the ice, Ylva deemed it strong enough to support her.

“You’re getting really creative with your shouting”, Bishop had caught up with her.

“If I have the power, I might as well use it”, she said, “Plus, I haven’t seen any dragon around. The strong winds most likely make it difficult for them to fly.”

“I hope you’re right”, the ranger scanned the sky.

“Let’s see what’s in that cave”, Ylva moved forward, freezing more floes together as she made her way to the opening. When she reached it, she saw that it was a whole, large enough for a man to go through. Wooden blanks covered it, but they were easily removed. She let the ranger and wolf climb through first and closed the whole again when she herself had passed through.

They found themselves in a small passageway. Light flickered on the other side of it and a low murmur could be heard. It was a little warmer with the wind gone, but not warm enough to be actually called comfortable. Rubbing her fingers together to get some feelings back into them, she went to see where the light was coming from. She reached a ledge, over what seemed to be a study of sorts. A bookcase and a table lined one of the cave walls and food was scattered about. A hooded and robed figure paced up and down the room, talking to himself.

“When the top level was built, no more could be placed. It was and is the maximal apex”, he said as he looked at a dwemer mechanism, sticking out of the ice on the other cave wall.

“Isn’t that the point of a top level, to be the highest?”, Ylva asked, drawing the mage's attention.

“Hm?”, the man barely took notice of them as they came down from the ledge.

“I suppose you are who I’m looking for”, she said, “I heard you know about Elder Scrolls.”

“The Empire. They absconded with them”, the Septimus Signus answered, “Or so they think. The ones they saw. The ones they thought they saw. I know of one. Forgotten. Sequestered. But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I... I have arisen beyond its grasp.”

“The Empire? I guess you mean the Cult of the Elder Moth”, she frowned, “What brings you to this remote place?”

“The ice entombs the heart”, he wildly gestured towards the dwemer structure, “The bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur. To harness it is to know. The fundaments. The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me. The Elder Scroll gives insight deeper than the deep ones, though. To bring about the opening.”

The man was making even less sense than his writing. But his last words sparked some hope: “You have an Elder Scroll? Here?”

“I've seen enough to know their fabric. The warp of air, the weft of time. But no, it is not in my possession”, Septimus shook his head.

“So, where is the Scroll?”, she continued to prod further.

“Here. Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking. On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby”, the mage chuckled, as if he had made a hilarious joke.

“Are you…all right?”, Ylva was questioning if the man could be believed or if he was insane.

“Oh, I am well. I will be well. Well to be within the will inside the walls”, the eyes of the man glistered with glee.

“Can you help me get the Elder Scroll or not?”, she attempted again.

“One block lifts the other. Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something in return”, the mage mysteriously gave back.

“What do you want?”, Ylva was cautious, she wasn’t sure if she could trust that mage at all.

“You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings”, the man stared at the mechanism with awe, “Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer. Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies. Have you heard of Blackreach? ‘Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept’.”

“Where is this ‘Blackreach’?”, she had never heard of that place before.

“Under deep. Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand.”, finally, the mage had said a name she recognized, “The point of puncture, of first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its limits, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock.”

She knew that Alftand was a Dwemer ruin located deep inside the Winterhold hold, not too far away from where the College had dug up the ruins of Saarthal. Alftand had been the talk around Skyrim, ever since a large avalanche had brought it to the light. No adventurer had survived the exploration of it until now though. There were rumors of Falmer hidden in its depths.

“How do I get in?”, she asked, already dreading the answer.

“Two things I have for you. Two shapes. One edged, one round”, he turned towards his table and handed her an orb and a square, “The round one, for tuning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle and needed to open their cleverest gates. The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But... empty. Find Mzark and its sky-dome. The machinations there will read the Scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know.”

Looking at the two objects she frowned: “Sorry, what do I do with this sphere?”

“The deepest doors of Dwemer listen for singing. It plays the attitude of notes proper for opening”, the mage held the orb to his ear, “Can you not hear it? Too low for hearings?”

“Not really”, her frown deepened, “Whatever. What do I do with this cube?”

“To glimpse the world inside an Elder Scroll can damage the eyes. Or the mind, as it has to Septimus”, the mage smiled ruefully, “The Dwemer found a loophole, as they always do. To focus the knowledge away and inside without harm. Place the lexicon into their contraption and focus the knowings into it. When it brims with glow, bring it back and Septimus can read once more.”

“Let’s get out of here, quickly”, the ranger placed a hand on her shoulder, whispering in her ear.

“Do you want to freeze? At least let us try and warm up a little more”, she suggested.

“I’d rather freeze than listen to that guy’s ranting any longer”, he growled and turned around, “You coming?”

“Yes”, she called after him, but not without taking both the sphere and the cube from the mage and tucking them away into her pouches. She couldn’t truly say if it was her gut telling her to or if something else made her do it.

 

After hours of riding through wind and snow, they were back at the Frozen Hearth, trying to get some feeling back into their hands and feet by the fire. Waiting for their food, Ylva took out the orb and turned it around in her hands.

“You took it”, the disbelief contorted Bishops features as he observed her fingers running over the dwarven metal.

“I thought it couldn’t hurt”, she shrugged.

“You’re not seriously considering going into that ruin, are you?”, he looked her in the eyes. A sheepish smile crept over her face. A sudden wave of nausea hit him as he realized that she did quite in fact consider it.

“Don’t even suggest that! Are you mad, princess? I should tie you to your saddle and drag you back to Whiterun. Maybe your Shield-Siblings can knock some sense back into you!”, he fumed.

“Try it and I’ll break every bone in your hand!”, she hissed back, “If you’re scared something will happen, you can stay here or go back to the Lodge on your own. I might be crazy, but something tells me that that mad man wasn’t all that mad. And if there’s even the slightest of chances the Scroll is down there, I’d much rather take it and go look for it, before I travel all the way to those moth priests that I’m not too sure would actually give me a Scroll to take back to Paarthurnax.”

“You know as well as I do, that I won’t leave your side, sweetness”, he shot back, “I’m stuck with you and you are stuck with me. Even if that means you’ll get us both killed.”

“Come on! If that crazy bastard not only made it in but made it out alive, it will be a piece of cake for the both of us!”, she nudged him, “I’m sure we won’t die.”

“Your word in Shor’s ear”, he huffed, “You know that these dwemer ruins crawl with Falmer.”

“I’ve been in a couple before, you know?”, she remarked, “These blind bastards can be a pain in the ass, but I’ve managed to kill all of them so far. And we got enough health potions that we can survive at least three brutal dragon encounters. I don’t mean to blindly go in and go berserk. We need to be careful.”

“All right”, he accepted his defeat. Nothing he could say would change that stubborn woman’s mind anyway. He just hoped that they would get out of that ruin alive.

 

“Seems we aren’t the only people here”, Ylva observed as they arrived at the Alftand ruins the next day. Around one of the dwemer towers reaching out of the glacier was an abandoned campsite.

“They were attacked”, with a foot, the ranger lifted a scorched arm of a body from the snow, “My guess would be a dragon.”

“Yeah, my guess too”, she crouched down next to the remains of another burnt body, “A mage’s flame usually doesn’t do that much damage. We better sent the horses back.”

“You want to let them walk back to Winterhold on their own?”, the ranger frowned at the suggestion.

“No, to Whiterun”, she corrected, “They are smart animals and faster than any bear or troll. Allie has done that in the past. And we don’t know where the exit might be or how long we will be down there. Its more likely that something happens to them if we left them here.”

“If you say so”, the ranger didn’t seem very convinced.

When they had taken everything that they might need for their trip down into the ruin, Ylva placed her forehead against that of Allie.

“Go home, sweety”, she whispered, “And be careful!”

Her mare huffed, nudging her nose lovingly against her chest. When she let go of her, Allie gave a short whiny before galloping away, Balo on her tail. Ylva knew that the horses would be quicker without their riders on their back, heading straight towards the Whiterun Stables. Turning back to the ranger, she adjusted her backpack and smiled.

“Let’s go find the entrance”, she suggested.

They found a wooden walkway leading down the side of the glacier. Whoever had prepared that campsite, they must have been part of an excavation team. The walkway led to an opening in the ice. The telltale fizzling of pipes was faintly audible.

“This has to be it”, she took out her bow and adjusted her quiver, “Let’s go.”

“Watch your footing”, the ranger warned, “Can’t have you having a fall and expect me to carry you out of that place.”

“Same goes to you”, she gave back.

They entered through the large cleft in the ice. The wooden planks soon gave way to solid ice as they came into a tunnel. Boxes lay scattered around as if they had been dumped in great haste. Going forward, they found more tunnels through the ice, most likely manmade. Quietly moving forward, they stumbled over an abandoned campsite, with bedrolls and a deserted fireplace. Blood splatters had turned the ice red. With an uneasy feeling, they continued onwards. The tunnel suddenly broke into a hallway. A voice echoed through the hall, but she couldn’t make out any words. Maybe a survivor from the excavation team?

Following the dwemer hallway downwards they reached a chamber. The noise of the pipes blocked out all other sounds. Someone had tried to disassemble a dwarven spider. There were books scattered about, including a journal. Flipping through the pages Ylva quickly skimmed over the last entry.

“Whoever wrote this had seen something moving beyond that door”, she informed the ranger, “And looking at the blood splatters leading up to it, I’d bet it was some Falmer.”

“Then let’s get going. I don’t care to be ambushed by those abominations”, Bishop whispered back.

Continuing through the halls, they encountered two very intact dwarven spiders. Quickly destroying the automatons with an ax, she stood still and listened for any other suspicious sounds. The mumbling from before could be heard again, this time closer. Nocking an arrow, she went onwards. Their way led up a hallway and into an icy tunnel again when the ice blocked a section of the dwemer ruins.

“Where is it? I know you are trying to keep it for yourself, J'zhar... You always try to keep it for yourself!”, the mumbling became clearer now. It was a Kahjiit from the sound and the strong accent.

Carefully reading, they continued onwards.

“No! There's got to be more Skooma... Shut up! Shut up! Don't lie to me, J'zhar! You hid it! You always try to hide it from me!”

A skooma addict, Ylva realized. Just as she looked around another bend in the tunnel, she looked straight into a pair of cat eyes.

“What? Who is this, brother? Another of the smoothskins looking for food? But this one wasn't trapped with us...”, the Kahjiit jumped forward, a woodcutter’s ax in his paw.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Thu’um pushed him back into a wall with a sickening pop of his joints. Without hesitation she shot her arrow, hitting the cat in the heart. The look of surprise prevailed as the life bled out of the cat.

“He never saw that one coming”, the ranger muttered behind her.

Ylva was already bowing down next to the cold body of another cat. The ice surrounding them had delayed the decay, but he must have been dead for quite some time. Had his brother realized or had the skooma destroyed the other cat’s mind too much for him to realize? She found a journal by the body. Quickly reading the few lines pity overcame her.

“Something interesting?”, Bishop looked over her shoulder.

“No”, she sighed, putting the journal down, “This one wanted to save his brother, making him turn away from skooma. But it seems his brother was too far gone for saving.”

“Well, at least you put him out of his misery. He wouldn’t have survived much longer anyway.”

“Still makes me feel bad for killing him”, Ylva got up, “Let’s go on.”

The tunnel opened up into another part of the dwemer ruin. Another journal lay scattered about.

“There has been a whole group down here, but people had begun to disappear overnight”, she explained as she read it, “Maybe we can find some survivors.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, princess”, the ranger remarked.

“I know. Falmer eat human flesh”, she shuddered, remembering the human remains she had found in a Falmer invested cave, “And it’s not the reason why we are here.”

Suddenly, they heard a strange, metallic sound.

“A fucking sphere!”, Ylva cursed, quickly reaching for her axes.

“Make that two!”, the ranger fired an arrow to another Dwarven Sphere making its way over to them.

The automatons came dangerously close, reading their crossbows attached to their left hands. Reacting quickly, Ylva jumped in front of Bishop and the wolf, gathering her breath.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Thu’um threw both machines back, the metal scraping loudly over the stone floor as the force hit them. Not letting the opportunity go to waste, Ylva pulled her axes from her belt and leapt forward. She managed to get behind one of the spheres and let her fury of sharp blades hack into the metal spine. The dwarven metal gave in under her onslaught and the spine snapped, spurting dark oily liquid over the floor. Pulling back quick enough she was spared of the stinky liquid.

Turning around, she saw that Bishop holding the second one of with the Ebony blade she had forced on him the last time they had stopped by the lodge. Knowing, that he wasn’t used to fighting with a sword and only barely holding the machine off, Ylva sprinted over.

“SU!”

She felt the power surge through her and the grip on her weapons tightened. The metallic hammering made her ears ring as she hacked at the metal rod. With a final kick, the spine snapped and the automaton collapsed into itself.

“Are you hurt?”, she panted, sheathing her axes.

“I don’t think so”, the ranger seemed as much out of breath as she was.

“And you, pack brother?”, she crouched down to check on the wolf. She gently ruffled through his fur, much to Karnwyr’s enjoyment. He happily wiggled his tail during her examination.

“Seems you are all right, too”, she sighed relieved.

“You know, we could still go back”, Bishop suggested.

“Or we could go on”, with a final ruffle of the wolf’s fur, she stood up, “I’m fighting dragons and other monsters, some dwemer machines don’t scare me.”

“Your head must have gotten quite a beating when you were younger”, he shook his head, “There’s seriously something wrong with you, ladyship.”

“Don’t be such an asshat, Bish”, she glared at him, before turning around and moving on ahead.


	52. Falmer

Bishop didn’t know for how long they’ve been walking through this maze of stone corridors. The eerie light coming from the few lanterns, the constant noise from the pipes and strange mechanical constructs were tearing his nerves, making him feel tired and on edge. Not to mention the looming danger of Falmer lurking in the dark and the sudden attacks of the dwemer automatons still roaming the empty halls. For now, they had managed to destroy all that had come in their way, but would they continue to go through unscathed? They needed a break and some rest, but within the Falmer infested maze that wouldn’t be possible. Even Karnwyr looked tired. Suddenly Ylva stopped and cursed.

“What’s wrong?”, he asked quietly, nervously running his fingers over the feathers of his nocked arrow.

“Come to see for yourself”, she whispered back.

The long spiral walkway they have been following suddenly ended after a bend. Below the ledge they had found themselves on was a platform. In the low light, he could make out the form of a body sprawled over stone rubble.

“I can smell blood”, Ylva said, “And we passed some Chaurus eggs. Falmer have to be close by.”

“I can’t see any”, Bishop scanned the area for any telltale movement.

“Do you think Karnwyr can manage the jump down?”, her eyebrows were drawn together in contemplation.

“You want to go down there?”, he couldn’t believe his ears, “There’s no going back if one of us gets injured, princess. There could be a buzzing nest of Falmer down there for all we know. We could be easily be overwhelmed!”

“I’m going”, her jaw was set in determination.

“For fuck’s sake, woman!”, he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “I get it that you don’t want to leave Skyrim to go to that Tower, but this is like walking into a death trap!”

“Bish, I’m not only doing that because I don’t want to go to check out the moth priests, my gut tells me that there’s something down there”, her hazel eyes were honest and clear.

“Of course, there’s something down there: A bunch of Falmer and some very unlucky bastards that are probably being eaten as we speak”, he hissed.

“That too, but I mean I feel like we are on the right track. Paarthurnax said to trust in my instincts and that’s what I’m doing now”, she explained, “So, do you think Karnwyr can manage?”

“I don’t even think we can manage”, the ranger risked another peek over the ledge, “That’s higher than most houses in Whiterun!”

“The landing might sting, but nothing we can’t handle”, Ylva judged, “So, can Karnwyr make it? Or I can go first and you throw him to me.”

“He managed higher than this before. I bet if you jump, he’ll be right behind you anyway”, he grudgingly grumbled. While the bond between him and his wolf brother remained the same, Karnwyr had acknowledged Ylva as his alpha. He’d follow her. Won’t you too?, the voice in the back of his head twitted him. Yes…probably, he sighed.

“All right. I’ll jump first. You cover me from above, in case I get attacked”, Ylva secured her bow.

“You’re going to be the death of me”, he muttered, turning his attention to the platform below.

“FEIM”, she whispered, suddenly turning see-through before she leaped over the ledge. There wasn’t a sound as she landed, as if she hadn’t had any weight to her body. Reading her bow again she looked around, listening as she slowly became solid again.

“Come”, she waved at them, focusing on the small walkway spiraling down from the platform. Karnwyr didn’t wait for his brother. At Ylva’s call, he was sailing over the ledge and landed on the corpse with a sickening crunch as his weight crushed some bones. Cursing under his breath, Bishop put his arrow away, hung his bow over his shoulder, and followed. He landed less graceful and the joints in his legs screamed in protest. Lucky for him, his bones didn’t snap though.

“Drink this”, Ylva handed him a potion, “And give some to Karnwyr as well.”

“If my lady commands”, he muttered, before taking a large gulp of the liquid. The moment the potion began to work, he felt the pain in his joints and feet ease. Some of the tiredness was relieved as well. Pouring some into his hand he held it in front of the wolf’s nose.

“Here buddy, drink this”, he whispered. His furry brother sniffed at the dark liquid before tasting it. Noticing the effect it had, the wolf quickly licked up every last bit of it. Bishop wiped his slippery hand on his leg before putting the cork back into the vail and putting it away in one of his own pouches.

“You ready?”, Ylva whispered, “I smell Falmer.”

Reading his bow and arrow again, Bishop nodded. As always, the warrior went first, careful to not make too much noise with her heavy armor as she walked. She moved with the agility of a sabercat, betraying the weight of the armor protecting her. Stealth and sneaking might not be her strongest suit, but she had the instinct of a natural born hunter.

Suddenly she stopped, gesturing forward, before drawing her bow. The ranger only saw a shadow on the ground, but the long arms and hunched posture left little doubt that they were now finally in Falmer territory. Ylva’s arrow whistled through the air and struck home before the creature could react. It lifelessly sank to the ground and slithered down the slope. Waiting for any suspicious noises, they remained silent. When nothing could be heard, they continued on the way down.

 

Slowly they made their way down the spiral staircase. Again and again, they came face to face with the blind dwellers of the deep. Despite the creature’s good hearing and noses, they managed to remain undetected as they continued. The path led them through another room filled with two Falmer that fell to their arrows. On a wall, there was a sort of animal pen with a skeleton and a few ripped clothes. What had the blind monsters been keeping here? Going on, they came to a partially open door that they carefully pushed open to go through. The sweet smell of human flesh burning over a fire blew into their faces. The stench had engraved itself into Ylva’s mind after she had found the remains of Helgen and its citizens and a shudder ran down her spine. Reading her bow, she took out the first Falmer closest to the stairs they were coming down. When the body of their brethren sank down, the others turned around alarmed. One of the eyeless creatures seemed to have spotted them and came closer. Cursing, Ylva let loose another arrow but missed. When she saw that the floor was covered with oil, she gathered her breath.

“YOL TOR SHUL!”

Her Thu’um hit the Falmer and also ignited the oil, turning the floor into liquid fire. The two remaining Falmer screeched in agony as the flames licked their skin. In their fight for survival, they tried to get out of the flames and up the stairs to where Bishop and she were standing. With his arrows, the ranger put one out of his misery while the other found his end at her ax.  Despite the noise both creatures had made in their last battle, no other of their brethren came.

“I hate these creatures”, the ranger kicked burnt remains of one of the Falmer away.

“Sad to think that these once were elves”, she looked at the one in front of her, “Now they’re nothing more than wild beasts.”

“Wild beast with a taste for man flesh”, the ranger pointed towards a fire burning on the other side of the room. Roasting over the fire with some mushrooms was something that clearly resembled a human arm. Ylva’s stomach convulsed and she felt like throwing up. The memories of Helgen and the burnt bodies rose in her mind again. Shaking her head, she pushed the images away. Facing the ranger, she said: “Come on, there’s nothing we can do.”

Passing through a small hallway and down some stairs, they reached another larger room. The noise from the pipes drained out all other sounds, muffling their steps. There was another group of Falmer there, bend over a stone table. Ylva could see them through the lattice dividing the stairs from the other room. As quiet as possible they crept closer. Whatever held the creatures’ attention, they seemed not to notice them.

Bishop touched her shoulder, pointing forward. There were a lift and a trail of blood leading away from it. Vaguely Ylva remembered something similar close to where she had found the first journal, behind a set of bars. That must have been how the Falmer had sneaked up on the expedition group! So there still was a way out, if the ranger should chicken out anytime soon. Crouching down behind the cover of the metal lattice, she signaled to him to aim for one of the creatures. Nodding, he moved for a better shot while she exchanged her bow for her axes.

The red feathered arrow whistled through the air and pierced the neck of the blind creature. With a surprised gurgle, it fell on its back. Alarmed the others turned around, drawing weapons. Ylva was already sprinting forward, shielding Bishop with her body. When her left ax dug into the skull of one of the creatures, she felt a piercing pain in her outstretched arm. An ice spike had hit her. One of the Falmer had to be a Shadowmaster! Acting on instinct, she whirled around, the Rotmulaag already on her tongue: “SU!”

With the Elemental Fury giving strength to her arms, she buried her ax deep into the crook of the neck of the Falmer to her right. The creature gurgled as blood ran from his mouth. Using her momentum to pull her weapon free, she unleashed a wave of red liquid from the wound. Moving to the side, she barely dodged another ice spike aimed at her. With a cruel smile on her lips, she stormed forward. The Shadowmaster conjured a sword, but he couldn’t bring it up fast enough. Her axes bit into his skin, ripping through flesh and bone. Blood splattered over her arms and chest.

Looking around, she saw that Karnwyr and Bishop had taken care of the last remaining Falmer. And she also saw whatever the Falmer had been so occupied with. On a stone table lay the body of an Altmer. She was shackled, her dead eyes looking up at the ceiling. Parts of her leg were missing, as was her heart.

“Nasty way to go”, the ranger remarked when he saw the body.

“At least we took care of the monsters that did that to her”, Ylva wiped her axes clean using a rag from another table. When her weapons were taken care of, she quickly wiped the blood from her armor and took off her helmet to clean that as well.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”, Bishop came towards her.

“What?”, she looked at him puzzled.

“I don’t know, maybe the fucking ice spike that hit you?”, he growled, pushing her back to a table.

“Oh, yeah”, she weakly said as she let him pull down her left gauntlet, “I don’t think it actually made it through the armor.”

The ranger critically inspected her arm. When his fingers brushed a red spot, she winced.

“Tch”, he shook his head and fished a healing potion out of her pouches, “Reckless as always.”

“It wasn’t that bad. It would have healed on its own soon enough anyway”, she pouted.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, is that so hard to understand, princess?”, his amber eyes glowed fiercely as he gently rubbed some potion on the red spot, soothing the ache.

“I’m a warrior, Bish. I’m no stranger to pain and I don’t fear it”, she returned his look unwaveringly.

“You’re driving me nuts, woman!”, he growled. Placing his other hand in the nape of her neck he pulled her close, catching her lips with his own. His kiss was full of desperate passion, of anger and frustration. It was rough, demanding and wild. His stubble chafed her skin and his fingers dug deep into the soft flesh of her neck. She gasped, as much for the need of air as for the sting his hard grip caused. Her open lips were an invitation to him and his tongue slipped into her mouth. The world around her began to blur and she was getting dizzy. Her still armored hand gripped onto his arm while her left fingers reached into the soft hair at the back of his head, anchoring her. His passion was like liquid fire. She drunk it hungrily, feeling the warmth running down her throat and spreading in her chest. It was as if she was melting into him. There was no telling where she ended and where Bishop started. They were one being, two hearts beating as one. Everything else dissolved into nothingness.

Karnwyr’s growl made them harshly pull back. The wolf concentrated on the small hallway leading away from the chamber, exposing his fangs and ready to pounce every moment.

“Something’s coming”, the ranger unnecessarily commented.

There were scratching and hissing sounds coming closer. Quickly putting on her helmet Ylva reached for her axes. Not wanting to wait like a caged rabbit, they moved on. There was a door, probably leading back into the big cave they were in earlier. Moving to either side of the huge door they waited, anxious about what would come through. Strangely enough, the door didn’t open. Looking at each other with a puzzled expression, they heard whatever had come close leaving again.

“That was…strange”, Ylva muttered.

“We best get moving”, the ranger nodded towards the door.

Waiting for another moment, they finally opened the door. Much like she had expected, they were on another balcony overlooking the big cave. They had come out at a much lower level, only one spiral of the walkway parted them from the bottom of the cave. In the dim blue light of the dwemer lanterns, she could make out several huts and three Falmer roaming around. The weird scratching noise pulled her attention to a giant bug – they had a Chaurus down there. Frostspiders were one thing, but these weird big bastards creeped her out. Scanning the area for any other possible enemies she spotted a large door, probably leading even further down. Was that the gate to Blackreach or would that only lead into another maze of hallways and rooms? Would it be better to take the lift in the last room and try and rest there? No, the Falmer would be coming to look for them anyway when they would find their dead brethren. They wouldn’t be safe up there, nor if they left the ruin to make camp outside the ruin. There only was one way, and that was to go on.

Changing her axes for her bow, she signaled Bishop to aim for the Falmer patrolling close to the walkway spiraling down. Her own eyes were fixed on the big bug. If possible, she wanted to kill it before it could unleash its poisonous spit at them. The bowstring scrapped over the bones of her gauntlet as it unleashed the arrow. It hit the cracks between the Chaurus’ shell. As the creature screeched in pain, the Falmer ran towards their pet, not noticing that one of their own had fallen to Bishop’s well-aimed shot through the heart.

Using the confusion to their advantage, they quickly fired several more arrows. The Chaurus squirmed as more sharp peaks pierced through the chitin shell, it’s black blood streaming from many wounds. Its keepers weren’t doing much better. Several arrows had hit the pale skin, killing another and critically wounding the others. In an angry and desperate rage, one of them made for the spiraling walkway. Karnwyr was already waiting, his jaw made short work of the Falmer. The weakened blind creatures were no match for Ylva’s axes. After recovering their arrows, they opened the large door further down into the dwarven city.

After another set of stairs, they came into a dark room. Something was moving in the shadows there. Coming closer they found a lone Falmer, that they easily overtook. He had been guarding another door that opened into a cave. It reeked of Falmer and in the dim light, Ylva made out several of their huts. Straight across from them, on the other side of the cave, was a huge structure. It looked like a citadel, guarding something important. Could that be the entrance, that crazy Septimius had been talking about? The gate into the citadel was locked off. There had to be a way of opening it. Maybe the stairs to their left led to a lever or other mechanism to open the gate?

Looking around, she didn’t make out any Falmer so far. Gesturing to Bishop she made for the stairs as silently as she could. The stairs twisted upwards onto a balcony. From there, they had a good view of the cave. Much to her relief, she found a lever. Activating it, they observed the bars blocking the gate slide down into the ground, freeing their way. Drawn out by the noise, they also saw two Falmer come out of their huts. Using the higher ground to their advantage, they drew their bows and killed the blind creatures quickly from behind. Waiting if any other Falmer would storm into the cave, they stayed put. When nothing happened, they climbed down the stairs.

As Ylva walked up the stairs leading into the citadel, she suddenly heard the whistle of a soft melody and froze. The music was coming from her pouch! Was that the sphere? She remembered that the crazy mage had said something about soft music opening a gate. Before she could check, there was another whistle. But this whistling wasn’t a soft melody like the one from the sphere. It tugged at her mind, alarming her of some danger. With horror, she recognized the sound.

“CENTURION!”, she bellowed as a metal giant suddenly appeared in front of them.

“Fuck”, the ranger cursed, diving to the side, avoiding a swing of the powerful battleax attached to one of the Animunculus’ arms. Ylva managed to dodge the warhammer of the other arm and circled the creature. While a hit could be deadly, the bastard had one weakness: It was slow as a snail. Well, with a body made of solid dwemer metal, it certainly was not an easy opponent, even if it was a slow one.

Bishop was quickly moving around, trying to avoid the centurion’s attacks. But he was tired, and sooner or later the machine would hit him. She needed to think of something fast!

“Here goes nothing”, she muttered to herself. Taking a run, she shouted: “FUS RO DAH!”

The force of the Thu’um staggered the centurion and that was enough for her to find a hold on its back. The machine tried shaking her off, but she quickly wrapped her legs around its head. Holding on to the head with one hand, she used the other to drive her ax deep into the small crack between the head and the neck. Suddenly, hot steam poured out of various openings on the neck and the mouth of the machine. Her armor protected most of her, but the hot steam sipped through the small gaps, burning her flesh. Crying out in pain, she somehow managed to hold on.

“What are you doing!”, Bishop yelled, his face white with fear, “Get off!”

“I’ll kill you!”, she groaned through gritted teeth. Pushing on, the sharp edge of her ebony ax finally got through the much weaker dwarven metal, creating a large hole. The centurion got more frantic, turning as quickly as the giant machine could. Clinging on for dear life and hoping, that it would not be smart enough to try and crush her on a wall, she put her mouth over the opening. “YOL TOR SHUL!”

Her flame poured into the creature. While its outer shell could easily withstand the heat of her fire, the mechanics within were more fragile. The Fire Breath melted the fine instruments, destroying the core powering the centurion. As its heart melted, the metal giant fell forward and was silent. 

Exhausted and in pain, Ylva only barely managed to loosen the hold to save her legs from being crushed. Rolling of the now still machine, she dug through her pouches for a health and a regeneration potion. With shaking hands, she uncorked the first one. As the dark liquid ran down her throat, she felt the relief in her arms and legs and sighed.

“You crazy woman!”, the ranger ran towards her, “Don’t you dare do something like that again!”

“I won’t if I don’t have to”, she hoarsely croaked, before downing the second bottle. Feeling her strength return, she tried to get up. Her legs still felt wobbly and throbbed, where the healing potion was slowly repairing the damage done by the steam. Bishop steadied her, his face was still pale as a roll of paper.

“Should we go back and take that lift?”, he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

“No”, she shook her head, “There’s no safe place anywhere in this godsforsaken place. And going out of this maze wouldn’t help either. We could just as easily be attacked by bandits, trolls or worse, a dragon.”

“Still, any place is better than this”, he grimaced.

“Ok, how about this: Let us check the citadel and see if we find the gate to that Blackreach. If we do, we look around briefly. If we either see a ton of Falmer lurking around, any more of these damn dwemer machines or simply no place to take cover, we go back to the lift and take up camp close to the entrance of the cave”, she suggested, “How does that sound?”

“You and your silver tongue”, he shook his head, “All right. But you’ll let me take the lead and if I say we go back, we will go back.”

“Yes”, too tired to put up a fight she nodded.

“Stay close to me from now on”, he leaned his forehead against hers, as much as her helmet allowed it. Then he turned his gaze to the metal giant. As on impulse, he kicked it hard, huffing in frustration.

“I don’t get enough satisfaction from killing these dwemer creations. Where’s the fun in killing something that doesn’t bleed?”, he explained when she gave him a puzzled look.

Shrugging, she looked at the centurion one last time. Just as she meant to turn away, something sparkled. Bending down, she picked up a key. Had the centurion dropped it? Turning her gaze up the next section of stairs, she saw a fence guarding the inner part of the citadel. Was the key meant to open the gate there? At that thought came another. Hadn’t the sphere begun to whistle a melody? Digging through her other pouch, she brought forth the ball. Yes, she could still hear the soft melody. Whatever gate the sphere unlocked, it had to be close.

Bishop had already climbed up the stairs and was trying to pick open the lock of the gate. Smiling, she went up to him and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Might this help?”, she handed him the key.

“Where did you find that?”, he asked.

“I think the centurion had it”, she shrugged, “Try and see if we can go on.”

The key fit and easily turned, opening the gate.

“That was easy”, the ranger seemed surprised.

“Who’s there?”, a female voice called.

Both of their hands reached for their weapons and their eyes looked around. Behind some columns, Ylva saw a shadow that moved. Smelling the air, she sniffed fresh blood.

“Come out! We do not mean any harm”, Ylva called out, even though her hand remained on the handle of her ax.

“You weren’t locked in here with us!”, the voice went on.

Bishop pointed to some legs pocking out behind a stone column. A pool of blood grew larger under them. Whoever lay there, he surely wasn’t alive anymore. Nodding towards Bishop, Ylva continued to talk to the woman, hoping to focus her attention on her: “Are you from the expedition group?”

“What does it matter to you?”, the voice snarled.

“I’ve found some of your comrades, or what was left of them. The Falmer must have snuck up on you during the night and brought you down with them, right? They herded you like cattle to have a feast”, she continued, “We hoped to find some survivors down here. We don’t mean to harm you if you don’t harm us!”

“Who sent you? We didn’t tell anyone where we were going”, the woman seemed to become suspicious.

“No one sent us”, Ylva explained, “We happened about your campsite.”

“No one just enters a dwarven ruin when they stumble upon some deserted campsite”, the woman rambled, “So answer, why are you here?”

The shadow moved and a woman with raven hair and dark skin came into the dim light. She was covered in Steel Plate armor and carried a black sword and a unique looking shield.

“You are looking for something, right? You want to steal our treasure!”, the Redguard continued, “I won’t let you have it!”

Before she could storm towards Ylva, Bishop appeared behind her and slit her throat.

“If you want to hurt her, you’re gonna have to go through me”, he growled, as the life bled out of the Redguard.

“Did you have to kill her?”, Ylva remarked, “She probably was the last one surviving.”

“And she made sure that she was the last one”, he shot back, “Cause her friend back there died with her sword in his chest. I don’t think these people were a normal expedition group. Probably they were after dwemer artifacts to sell. I’ve heard that you can sell that stuff on the black market down in Cyrodiil. They fetch a handsome price, too!”

“A group of thieves and grave robbers?”, she looked at the black-haired woman again, “Well, that puts it in a different light.”

“Seems like a dead end though”, the ranger scratched his head, “There is no door here, only blank stone.”

“Not so fast, Bish”, Ylva moved towards the complicated looking mechanism in the middle of the small platform they were standing on. The sphere’s whistling got louder as she got closer, making Karnwyr howl with disdain. Several crystal orbs were embedded in a large plate of the square mechanism. Going around the square, she found a dent in the metal plate, roughly the size of the sphere. Leaning over, she placed the orb in it. The sphere began to rotate and the whistling stopped. Instead, a loud clack could be heard. Suddenly, the stone tiles around the square began to move.

“Whoa”, Bishop jumped back surprised.

From her spot, Ylva could see that a narrow stair had appeared, leading further down.

“That’s what Septimius meant with ‘dwemer music’”, she walked around, “That must be the gate to Blackreach!”

“I can’t believe it”, the ranger gaped.

“After you, Bish. You wanted to take the lead”, Ylva teased.

“All right, all right”, he sighed.

He walked on ahead, she and Karnwyr followed. Just like she expected, they had reached another door. They went through and immediately were dumbstruck. Were they really in a cave or had they just entered a plain of Oblivion or some other world? Before their eyes lay a large cave, illuminated but gigantic, purple and blue glowing mushrooms. From the cave ceiling, large glowing vines hang down and spores flew through the air, looking like tiny fireflies. There was an intense earthy scent in the air.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”, she asked the ranger.

“If you mean glowing mushrooms, then yes”, he replied.

“Good, I was worried that some Deadra pulled me in his plain of Oblivion”, she sighed.

“If that happened, we were all pulled over”, he scratched his chin.

“Hey, isn’t that a house of sorts over there?”, Ylva pointed towards a smaller structure straight across from them.

“You want to check it out?”, he asked, “There’s a sphere guarding its doorstep though.”

“Come on, after that centurion a sphere is hardly a challenge”, she joked. As she let her eyes roam around, she saw a large crossbow mechanism attached to the stone wall nearby. Not letting the sphere out of her sight, she moved closer to it. It turned out to be a large dwemer crossbow and it looked functional. There even was a large bolt in the flight groove. Carefully adjusting the aim, Ylva pulled the trigger, unleashing the bolt. Satisfied, they both observed how the bolt struck the sphere, destroying the dwemer mechanism.

“All right”, she grinned, “Let’s go and take a look.”

The door of the small structure was jammed, but with a determined push, it opened. Stumbling in the room, Ylva’s boot hit some metal and something that sounded like bones. Blinking against the darkness, she realized that they were indeed standing in a small living space. There was a hearth with firewood still piled up in the middle, a large bed on one side of the room and a study on the other.

“That looks like the home of an alchemist”, Ylva looked over the shriveled ingredients scattered about. Among them, planted in some soil, was a Nirnroot, singing its soft melody and shedding some dim light. It was unlike any other she had seen before. The leaves were crimson as if it had drunk blood and the color had stained the leaves.

“And he’s still here”, Bishop crotched down next to a skeleton on the floor, “Seems whoever lived here got killed by one of those dwemer spheres.”

“Well, at least he didn’t get eaten by Falmer”, she pointed out, “So, what do you think?”

“About what?”, the ranger looked at her puzzled.

“Does that seem like a good place to rest? I mean, we got a bed and can even make a fire. And I haven’t seen any trace of Falmer nearby. If we bar the door, we might be able to get some sleep”, she suggested.

“I’m not a big fan of sleeping close to Falmer, but I guess it’s better than sleeping in the ice or out in the wilds of Winterhold”, the ranger got up, “I’m not sure if we should risk a fire though.”

“Fair enough, the smoke might attract Falmer”, she took off her helmet and put it on the study, “We have our bedrolls to keep us warm anyway.”

 

After blocking the door with a heavy shelf, they moved the skeleton and the remains of the dwemer sphere that probably killed the former inhabitant, rolled out their bedrolls and ate some bread, jerky, and cheese. Karnwyr took his share of jerky and lay down next to the bed, happily gnawing on his food. Bishop was surprised just how hungry he was. Just how long had they been going on without food and rest? The darkness inside the ruin made it hard to tell time. He felt tired and despite the potion, he had drunk earlier, he was exhausted. That they stumbled over this small house down here was almost too perfect. But he was too tired to question their luck in finding it. While Ylva slipped out of her armor and into her bedroll he checked everything for a trace of a secret passage into their little shelter using Ylva’s travel lantern, but to his relief, he found none. Because the small structure had no windows, it was unlikely that anyone could find them there, not even these blind creatures roaming around.

Placing the lantern on the table, sat down and looked over to the bed. Ylva had curled up, only her auburn hair and her nose poked out. It hadn’t taken long for her to fall asleep, which wasn’t surprising after everything that happened the last hours. He rubbed his face, trying to keep his own exhaustion at bay. If he could, he’d happily slip into his own bedroll and cuddle up to her. But that meant risking being ambushed, and he couldn’t risk that, no matter how tired he was.

Watching her peacefully sleeping, he could only wonder how she could so easily shake off her brush with death earlier. His heart had nearly stopped beating when he saw her there, holding on to the centurion. He had wanted to pull her off, shake her back to her senses. Well, she had been thoroughly been shaken by the metal giant as it had tried to get her off. And then that blasted metal junk had breathed steam, scalding her, while he could only watch. He felt helpless, whenever she did something like this. No matter the cost, he wanted to protect her, keep her safe. He couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt or even dying. She had brought light into his life again, showed him that he could still feel love, no matter how much he had fought it. A life without her seemed impossible. And yet it was always at risk. Yes, she was an exceptional fighter, and powerful beyond compare. Still, in every battle, with every enemy, there was a chance that their luck would run out, that there wouldn’t be enough healing potions or a healer that could patch her back together.

The stubbornness with which she threw herself into dangerous situations all the time made him want to rip out his hair. One of these days he would really have to tie her up and keep her locked up somewhere, as much for her own safety as for the sake of his sanity. Face it, you can’t look her up, even if you wanted to, the nagging voice in the back of his mind teased, She’s way too powerful for you. Yes, that she was. That was also the reason why she always insisted on shielding him and his wolf brother. Speaking of the later, Karnwyr had weaseled his way onto the bed, curling up to Ylva’s feet and had started to softly snore. Once they had gotten out of this ruin and somewhere they could hunt, the wolf would be thrilled. The jerky and left-over meat from their meals hardly could sustain his brother. Maybe he could persuade Ylva to stop by the Lodge and rest some days. The short break they had before talking to the Greybeards hardly had been enough for them.

 

“Bish, sweety, don’t you want to lie down?”, her sweet voice startled him and he jerked awake.

“Fuck, did I doze off?”, he rubbed his eyes.

“Seems that way, though I can’t say for how long. How about you lie down and rest a bit yourself?”, she gently kissed his forehead, “There’s no need to rush and we need our strength.”

“Sorry, that usually never happens to me”, he felt guilty for dozing off. After stretching his stiff limbs, he got up and took off his armor, before he slipped into his bedroll.

 

No one could say for how long they stayed in the small cabin or how long they slept. With no natural light, time could be flying by or go by slow, you had no way of telling it. It could have been a day or two, maybe more, maybe less. The only thing that was certain was that all of them were well rested and had gotten enough sleep to survive either the climb back up and journey to Winterhold, or the exploration of this incredibly large cave. Despite the danger lurking in the shadow everywhere, Ylva felt happy to turn her back on their shelter. It meant going forward and maybe even see the light of day in a few hours again. She yearned for Skyrim’s beautiful sky and fresh air that bit into her skin and burned in her lungs. Being stuck under ground made her feel uneasy, almost like a caged animal.

They were following a road through the otherworldly landscape. The lantern mushrooms as she had come to call the giant fungi growing everywhere shone either purple, green or blue, reminding her of the colors of the auras she loved to watch at night. So far they had passed a sleeping dwemer centurion and a watchtower with a few Falmer scouts that had fallen to their bows. To the left of the road, there seemed to be a city. Could that be where the Elder Scroll was hidden? But the mage had said something about the Tower of Mzark. It had to be a large structure, larger than the many towers of the city. Trusting her gut, she kept to the road leading around it.

“There’s even a river down here!”, Bishop whispered, “What is this, a cave or a fucking world of its own?”

“Call me superstitious, but I’d rather not try the water though”, Ylva wrinkled her nose in disgust to the strange smell coming from the river, “At least not if I don’t have to.”

“We might if we don’t get out of this cave soon enough. Our water supplies are beginning to run low”, the ranger warned.

“I know”, she sighed, “Let’s hope we find this fucking tower soon.”

Continuing onwards, they only ran into a Chaurus. Where were all the Falmer? Had they gathered somewhere else, not caring to roam around this large cave? Or maybe there was something else keeping them off the roads? A larger monster lurking in the dark? Whatever the reason, Ylva was more than happy to not have to fight her way through this cave. This whole ordeal had been much harder than she had anticipated. Her hope to find something down there remained, though the longer they continued walking, doubt grew. By Talos, I hope this was worth it, she thought, biting her lip. Bishop would never agree to anything dangerous again if they didn’t succeed here. She needed to find that tower and that stupid scroll, and she needed to find it fast.

The road bend to the right and over a bridge. The city had disappeared behind a large mountain if she could call it that underground. The river passed on their right, broadening.

“Hey, that looks like a tower over there!”, Bishop pointed out. He had scouted on ahead, making sure that they were not walking straight into a Falmer ambush. Closing up to him, she looked where he was pointing. In the middle of the river was a large structure. It went up into the cave ceiling and was cylindrical in shape.

“Either that or another lift”, she said. They had passed one of these earlier, but the gate had been jammed. After trying to unlock it for the better part of what had felt like an hour, they had decided to continue their search elsewhere.

“It’s worth a shot. At the least we might come up somewhere with fresh air”, she judged.

They continued on the road as it seemed to lead up to the tower. Suddenly, the rock to their right disappeared and the city they had seen came into few. The walls from this side were much higher, but steep stairs led right up to it.

“There are some guards patrolling on the walls”, Ylva whispered, “Keep your guard up.”

“Got it”, Bishop nodded and nocked an arrow, just in case.

The Falmer on the walls seemed to be less interested with the trio moving closer to the tower as with something in the sky. At least it looked as if they were listening for something in the air. Whatever held their attention, Ylva was grateful for it.

To their relief, the door of the tower wasn’t jammed like the last one and easily opened. It was, in fact, a lift.

“Let’s see where this goes”, Ylva was eager to pull the lever, activating the old mechanism.

“But be prepared that we might interrupt a Falmer feast or something”, Bishop warned.

“Yeah, we better have our weapons ready”, she agreed, activating the lift. Karnwyr yelped surprised as the floor began to move upwards.

 

The ride took a long time. Just how deep down was the cave and how high were they climbing? Bishop was nervous. Besides the trouble with the first lift, this all had been going too well today. He had the bad feeling in his gut that something would go completely wrong today. If he had learned one thing from life so far, it was that if something was easy, it was either a trap or a dead end. Life didn’t work that way, not for him or anybody out there. When the lift began to slow down, he braced himself for a nasty battle. Only there was none. They arrived in what seemed to be a living quarter of sorts. Some rubble lay around where probably a large pipe had exploded and the ceiling had caved in. Listening for any suspicious sounds, he could only make out the hissing of the pipes, nothing else.

“Another cabin?”, Ylva was the first to step off the lift, “Someone has been living here, too. And it certainly wasn’t a dwarf or any of those blind bastards.”

She looked down at a cooking station someone had set up in the middle of the room. Bishop looked around the small room.

“I think I found the inhabitant”, he kicked the skeleton he found in a corner.

“And I his journal”, she had a red leather journal in her hands, already reading the few pages, “Looks like he had been trying to solve a puzzle here. Let’s go check that out for ourselves, shall we?”

The red blockhead was already walking into the next room. Cursing, he followed her up the spiraling walkway that circled around a large mechanism, somewhat resembling the bottom of a dwemer sphere.

“Would you look at that!”, Ylva looked around in wonder, “I think we found that reading room that Septimius had been talking about!”

Bishop blinked at the complex mechanism hanging from the ceiling. Several large crystals were being upheld by metal arms. Light was pouring in from the ceiling. As it hit the crystals, it was split and reflected.

“Looks like…the sky at night?”, Bishop frowned.

“There’s like a control panel up there on the balcony”, Ylva pointed towards some small metal columns, “Let me see if I can make something move.”

“How are you going to do that?”, the ranger replied, “I thought you were a warrior and not some crazy scholar.”

“Just let me try it, all right?”, she shot back, “That dead fellow wrote something about how he thought the puzzle was to be solved. And that thing over there seems to be the perfect size for that strange cube the crazy mage gave me.”

“If that works, I’m eating one of those glowing mushrooms”, he huffed, crossing his arms.

“I’d be careful with that”, she grinned mischievously, “I might make you do it.”

She pushed a button and suddenly the mechanic came to life. Astonished, Bishop observed the slender mechanical arms move around as well as the large sphere in the bottom. With every new constellation, the light was broken in a different way, sending rays through the room. But what shone even brighter was the giddy smile on Ylva’s face. At that moment, she looked much younger, giving him an impression of the inquisitive child, she once had been, eagerly sucking up knowledge about hunting, about fighting and excelling at everything she turned her gaze to. Hell, she would have made one heck of a mage if she’d tried it, he was sure.

“Oh, the last button came free”, she exclaimed ecxitedly, “Let’s see what that does.”

All the orbs suddenly moved out of the way as a ring of even larger crystals were lowered. The biggest one of them turned one final time, before suddenly opening up. Bishop’s mouth fell open. No, he wasn’t seeing what he thought he was. Some Deadra had kidnapped him and played tricks on his mind.

“We found the scroll!”, Ylva squealed as she came rushing down, “I knew it was here, I just knew it!”

“No fucking way”, the ranger groaned. How could something so crazy actually work? No way in Oblivion had he thought that they would succeed. Was it the gods themselves guiding Ylva in her quest? Chills ran down his spine. He wasn’t religious or superstitious at all, but he couldn’t deny that there was some higher power at work here, leading Ylva on the path of her destiny.


	53. Unexpected Visitor

Air, fresh and cold, smelling of trees and snow. Ylva closed her eyes and took a deep breath when the lift came to a halt. After all that earthy, moldy and sometimes oily smelling air, the coldness biting into her skin and the burning in her lungs as she took in the clean Skyrim air were more than welcoming and liberating. Through the metal bars, the rays of the setting sun came through. Had they been only gone for a day or so? It had felt longer than that. She would need to ask the next person they met what date it was to be certain. Only a metal door blocked their way to freedom. Activating a lever next to the door made its wings fly open. Karnwyr, eager to reclaim his freedom, jumped out and landed with a loud thud in the snow.

"Slow down, buddy", Bishop laughed, "You don't know what's out there."

He followed the wolf out and looked around, as did she.

"Looks like we're somewhere in the Pale, not too far away from the hold border to Whiterun", Ylva stated once she was sure of their surroundings.

"How can you be so sure of that?", the ranger frowned at her.

"I can see Blizzard Rest and I think I see the Loreius Farm from here", she explained, "I think we can reach the lodge in about a day's journey. This place looks safe enough to camp here, what do you think?"

The lift had brought them up on the side of a mountain on a small plateau. Apparently, a group of researchers had put up camp here not too long ago, though their campsite seemed deserted. There were two leather tents, the remains of an old campfire and room enough to put up their own.

"Whoever had camped here, he must have had a reason to go quickly and only grab the most important things. I mean, who leaves a tent behind?", Bishop shook his head.

"Maybe it was that skeleton we found close to where we found the scroll?", she shrugged, "I don't smell anything harmful around here though. I'm not so tired that I could sleep right away, but I don't think I'll manage to walk all the way back to the lodge, either."

"Seems that finding that scroll restored some of your sanity", he smirked, "All right, let's rest here."

"How about you and Karnwyr go and hunt our dinner while I put up the tent and see if I can get a fire going?", she suggested.

"What do you say, buddy, wanna go hunt?", the ranger looked down at the wolf.

Karnwyr barked happily, wiggling his tail.

"Don't wander too far off, you know, just in case something happens", she was very much aware that even though the scenery looked peaceful enough and not too many bandits dared to put up camp anywhere near giant's territory, danger still lurked everywhere.

"I'll keep an eye on the sky, don't worry", he nodded, "See you later, sweetness."

Once the ranger had gone and the small fur tent was ready for them, she sat down to enjoy the beautiful play of colors in the sky as the sun was setting. Roaming in the dark for so long she felt bad for the blind creatures down in the cave below. Living without sunlight, without ever knowing how the light feels on the skin, how beautiful the colors of the clouds look. Then again, would it be that much of a loss if you never knew the beauty of the sun and the outside world to begin with? Shaking her head at her own thoughts, she got up and stretched. She still had to prepare a fire. Maybe the table in one of the deserted tents could get her started on that.

 

Bishop returned as the sun had disappeared behind the mountains and the pink and oranges of the clouds had turned into the blues and violets of the night sky. Karnwyr followed with a hare dangling from his jaw, his snout covered with blood.

"How do you feel about some rabbit stew?", the ranger held two of the small critters up for Ylva to see.

"Sounds good", she smiled, "And I already got some water boiling in the pot."

The table had proven to be a perfect source of firewood and with the heat of the fire, she had melted snow in her cooking pot and thrown in the last carrot, leftover bread, and herbs she had found in her pack.

The ranger cleaned the rabbit carcasses and put the meat in the pot, giving the bones to Karnwyr. Once he was done, he joined Ylva sitting close to the fire and put an arm around her shoulder.

"This feels nice, you know", he sighed, "Sitting here with you around the fire."

Smiling, she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Makes that whole adventure down there feel like a bad dream or something", he continued.

"Well, we do have the scroll, so it wasn't just a dream", she reminded him.

"I didn't think we'd find it down there. Not many people would have gone into that ruin anyway, especially not if they got the info from a madman living inside an iceberg, mumbling some strange stuff", he chuckled and slightly shook his head, "That took guts."

"I was doubting myself a lot while we were in there, to be honest with you", she admitted, "But something in my gut told me to go through with it and so I did."

"And here I thought you have gone mad", the ranger chuckled.

"Hey!", she nudged him with her elbow.

"You broke my rib!", he theatrically grimaced as if in pain.

"Treats you right", she stuck out her tongue.

"Little minx", with a wolfish grin, he pushed her, making them both fall over into the snow. Giggling, she tried to get him off her, but he resisted, instead he rubbed a hand of the white, cold flakes into her face. As they tussled, they kept rolling around in the snow with Karnwyr jumping around them barking. With their bellies hurting from laughter, their faces red from exertion and the cold, they finally lay on their backs, looking at the stars with a dumb grin on either of their faces.

"Why can't every day be like this?", Ylva thought out loud.

"Who says it can't?", Bishop replied, turning his head to look at her.

"You know damn well why it can't", she brushed a strand of hair out of his face. It had gotten so long that it could almost reach his eyes by now. The ambers were dark and bore something melancholic within them. For a long time, he just held her gaze, as if he was meaning to tell her something but couldn't muster the courage to say it. He finally shook his head and rolled onto his side, brushing some snow from her hair.

"Come on, that stew should be ready by now", he smiled before getting on his feet, offering her his hand.

Watching him with a confused look, she finally took his hand and let herself be pulled up. What had gone through his head? She had a feeling that there was something very important he wanted to tell her just a moment ago. Would he ever bring himself to say out loud what his actions and expressions spoke so clearly? And when would he realize that she felt the same towards him? Maybe he needed a little nudge in the right direction? And she had just the right idea for that...

 

It wasn't even past midday when they passed the gate into the Whiterun Hold. Ylva noticed that there were more soldiers there than usual.

"Thane, good to have you back", one of the guards smiled at her. He was one of the regulars.

"What's going on?", she asked.

"There have been sightings of Stormcloak action lately", the soldier explained, "The Jarl is worried that there might be an attack soon."

"Gods be damned", she muttered to herself and then added a little louder, "Come on Bish, we better make it to the lodge ere sunset. I think the Jarl will want to see me soon."

Not waiting for him, she was marching down the road to her home. Bishop and Karnwyr had to hurry to catch up with her.

"Why don't you go see the Jarl straight away?", the ranger asked.

"Two reasons", she explained while she continued onwards, "First, the dossier from Ulfric is at the lodge, safely locked away in a safe that not even Lydia knows about, well hidden on the property. And second, we've just come out of a fucking Falmer infested maze, scrambling around in the dark, bathing in blood. I need a shower. And if Ulfric shall attack while I'm in there, I'll tear him apart, limb by limb."

 

The shower had to wait for a moment though. When they came around the final bend on the road up the White River towards her Lodge, they noticed two unfamiliar horses and two Imperial foot soldiers standing guard at the small stable.

"Why on Nirn...", Bishop muttered.

"I guess we have a visitor", Ylva pulled her helmet off and made her way across the bridge.

Opening the door to her home, they heard cheerful laughter and a very familiar voice.

"Auntie!", she exclaimed when she rushed towards the tall Nord woman clad in officer armor.

"Hey there furball", her aunt turned towards her, but when she saw the left-over blood spots and dirt on her armor, she whistled through her teeth, "Gosh, furball, what happened to you?"

"Dungeon crawling", Ylva winked, "Had to go through a dwarven ruin to reclaim something and that maze was filled with Falmer. But what brings you here?"

"I wanted to talk to you, in private", her aunt quickly glanced towards Lydia and the other soldier in the room, then back to her niece.

"How about you join me while I start a fire to warm up the shower water?", she suggested, "I'm sure your comrade would be thrilled to share the tales of a battle-hardened warrior with my housecarl."

"You heard her", Rikke glanced at the soldier.

"Yes, Legate", the soldier saluted and then turned towards Lydia again.

"I don't think he'll mind much", the older woman chuckled as they left towards the bathing house.

Once the door closed behind them, Ylva turned towards her aunt: "All right, what did you want to talk about?"

"Do you trust him?", Rikke gestured towards Bishop.

"With my life", she nodded, "You can talk freely in front of him."

"All right", the legate sat down in the chair in the corner of the small room, "I guess you heard of the rumors of an attack on Whiterun?"

"Hard to miss, we passed the border towards the Pale this morning", Ylva occupied herself with setting up wood for heating up the shower water.

"The rumors are true", her aunt sighed, "My scouts have reported an increase of activity. Ulfric has been pulling his troops together to march on the city. Every day, more people join his cause."

"And why are you telling me this instead of Jarl Balgruuf?"

"Because the old man refuses to listen to anything the Legion has to say. On the other hand, he also refuses to acknowledge Ulfric's claim", Rikke went on, "If he doesn't allow troops to be garrisoned in his city, Ulfric will pillage his city."

"YOL", Ylva set the logs on fire and watched as the flame gained in strength. Finally, she turned towards her aunt that watched her with keen eyes.

"You know that my oath forbids me to take part in the politics of Skyrim. I'm bound to protect all Skyrim, not the Empire", she reminded her aunt.

"How can you stand by while the people of Whiterun are pillaged by Stormcloak rebels, the same people that killed your father?", her aunt stood up, her eyes blazing with anger.

"I didn't say I'd let them", Ylva snarled back, "Whiterun is my home, these people are my family. I won't stand by when Ulfric is attacking them. But I need to speak to my Shield-Siblings about that."

"Do that then. I'll make sure that the General will understand and respect the choice of the Circle, whatever that may be", Rikke nodded and was already on her way towards the door, "I'll better get going."

"Auntie, there's something else you might want to know", Ylva stopped her, "About Ulfric."

"And what would that be?", Rikke raised an eyebrow in question.

"Ulfric had been captured and tortured by the Thalmor in the Great War. When they let him run free afterward, he became an asset of theirs. They let him have certain information, to rally his troops and in turn, he slipped some information towards them. He's not working with them anymore after the Markath incident, but the Thalmor have a huge interest in keeping him alive", she explained.

"Why would they want that?", her aunt asked.

"They want the Civil War to go on. Think about it: While the Empire and the Stormcloaks are at each other's throat, they can continue to work in the shadows, regroup and refill their ranks. These elvish bastards want to conquer all of Tamriel. The White-Gold-Concordat was only a means to have a reason to rule out Talos worship and to have an excuse to go after any opposition within the Empire, while the Civil War in Skyrim is keeping the Empire to regain its strength after the Great War. The Civil War weakens the Empire and Skyrim as a whole, thus making both vulnerable and an easy target once the Thalmor have rebuilt their strength."

"By Talos", Rikke let a hand run over her face, "How do you know all of this?"

 

"Well, after the last time we talked I had to break into the Embassy, killed a few Thalmor there and also took some of their dossiers", Ylva explained, "We got the hint that these bastards might have some knowledge about the whole dragon business, though that wasn't exactly true. Elenwen is the head of the Skyrim operation and she herself was the one that tortured Ulfric in the Great War."

"That explains why she wanted to stop Tullius from executing Ulfric in Helgen before that black dragon showed up and he got away", Rikke frowned.

"Were you there, that day?", Ylva was alarmed. The memory of the burning ruin of Helgen had engraved itself in her mind to forever haunt her in her dreams.

"I wasn't. Tullius, Elenwen, and Ulfric were there though. And Tullius was quite shaken when he returned. He looked like he'd been through hell. And for a man, that has fought on many gruesome battlefields, that says a lot."

"I've seen Helgen, you know? I wasn't on time to help the townsfolk escape, but I saw the dragon fly away", she shuddered involuntarily, "But anyway. Be cautious of the Thalmor, aunt. And let's hope that the Civil war will soon."

"Yes, let's just hope it's the right side that wins", Rikke gave her a long look, "I'll give you a bit of time to take counsel with your Shield-Siblings. But tomorrow afternoon I'll send a courier to the Jarl with our intel."

"I'll see what I can do, auntie. Take care", she hugged the legate.

 

Bishop and Ylva stood on the balcony of the lodge, observing the small group of soldiers making their way down the road to wherever they had set up their field camp.

"Why didn't you let them stay at the lodge?", the ranger asked.

"The Companions are neutral in the Civil War. Me allowing Imperial soldiers to stay at my home would make people doubt that, even more so since I became the Harbinger. That would neither help my aunt nor the Companions", she turned away from the wooden rail, "She'll be fine. Come on, let's take care of ourselves."

Bishop noticed the strain and exhaustion in her eyes. He had hoped that they'd have a few quiet days before they attempted another impossible task. But fate had different plans. That Ulfric had been planning something in regard to Whiterun wasn't exactly news. Rumors of a siege had been long spread around and times and times again, he had changed his opinion. Not this time, apparently.

If Ulfric thought that he could capture Whiterun easily, he was wrong. Given Ylva's ties to the Imperial Legion and the fact that Stormcloaks had killed her father, she had no sympathy for them. Even more, she wouldn't let anybody hurt her family and friends. Did Ulfric realize that he'd made a very dangerous enemy?

 

"You're sure that you don't rather want to go for a hunt?", Ylva asked as they made their way through the buzzing streets of Whiterun.

"For the hundredth time in Oblivion", the ranger rolled his eyes, "No, I'd rather be here and make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"Suit yourself", she yawned, shaking her head to dispel the tiredness she felt. The talk with her aunt the night before had kept her from getting much rest. She had tossed and turned around in her bed, much to the ranger's annoyance, trying to figure out what she should do. After a while, she had given up on trying to sleep and instead busied herself with cleaning her and Bishop's armor and taking care of the equipment.

Judging from the clashing of steel and Farkas deep voice barking instructions, the whelps were busy with training. Passing through the walkway between the Underforge and Jorrvaskr, she saw her brother surrounded by several newcomers. With satisfaction, she saw that the Erik, the innkeeper's lad from Rorikstead, was among them. Tovar and Avis were sparring with another girl, an Imperial from the looks of her. After a moment of watching the training, she cleared her throat and stepped into the courtyard.

"Good morning, my fellow Companions", she called out, "Glad to see some newblood has arrived."

"Welcome home, sis!", Farkas smiled and came close, "I missed you."

"I missed you too, brother", she smiled in return, hugging the large Nord.

"You look tired", he stated.

"Didn't get much sleep lately, don't worry", she brushed off his remark.

"Whelps, come and greet the Harbinger! You don't know how long you get a chance to before she disappears again", her brother barked at the young recruits.

"Harbinger, do you remember me?", Erik came over, a blinding smile on his face.

"Of course I remember, Erik", she placed a hand on the lad's shoulder, "I'm glad you decided to join us. We can definitely use someone with an eager heart like yours. And with Farkas training, you're well equipped to become a great warrior. Your father will have no need to worry about you."

"Thank you!", he beamed, "I'll train hard to become as good as you."

"Ha, that'll take a while, newblood", Farkas grinned, "Ylva's the most skilled fighter we have."

"Brother, where's the rest of the Circle?", she asked.

"Vilkas is inside and Aela is out hunting. She'll be back soon", the Nord replied.

"Good. I need to gather the Circle", she explained, "As soon as Aela comes back, I want you and her to come down to Kodlak's quarters."

"They are the Harbinger's quarters, sis", he reminded her, "They belong to you now."

"Right...either way, come and meet me down there as soon as our Shield-Sister arrives", she locked gaze with him.

"I will", he nodded.

"Good", waving at the whelps, she went up the stairs and entered the mead hall. She found Vilkas sitting in a corner bending over a stack of letters.

"Lot of work coming our way?", Ylva remarked when she sat down.

"Well, well, look who's come home", a grin spread over his face, "How long will you stay this time?"

"I can't say", she confessed, "Can I talk with you down in the old man's study?"

 

"Is it because of the rumors of an attack on the city?", Vilkas was quick to catch on.

"Yes, but I'd rather talk with you downstairs. I told Farkas to wait for Aela and join us with her", she explained.

 

Bishop followed them down into the living quarters, Karnwyr at his heels. Vilkas settled in one of the chairs around the table in one corner of the study, while she sat down in the other, only quickly glancing around the room. The shadow that moved over her eyes didn't go unnoticed. She looked exhausted and haunted. No wonder with the burden she had to carry.

"Are you all right, sister?", Vilkas mirrored his own worry.

"I must really look terrible if both you and Farkas ask me that", she sighed, "I'm just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night."

The ice blue eyes turned questioningly to Bishop.

"Not my fault", the ranger held up his hands in defense, "Well, at least not last night."

"I had a visitor", she ignored his remark, "Remember the Legate that was a good friend of my father?"

"Your aunt Rikke?", Vilkas raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. My aunt came to me to tell me that Ulfric has been gathering his forces to strike on Whiterun soon", another sigh, "She asked me to convince the Jarl to let the Legion garrison troops in his city."

"You're joking, right?", he shook his head, "I mean you are the Harbinger of the Companions. You can't meddle in politics."

"I know. But I damn well can't have that traitor attack our home", she argued.

"Who's attacking whose home?", Aela and Farkas came towards them.

"You've come back earlier than what I expected", Vilkas welcomed the redheaded warrior.

"No luck with prey today. They were nervous, something must be in the air", Aela explained.

"They sense danger, and they are right", Ylva said, "Ulfric is planning to march on our city."

"So, the rumors are true", Aela frowned, "Let me guess, you don't plan on letting him do it?"

"Of course not", the tiredness in her hazel eyes was replaced by a fierce glow, "This is Whiterun, the home of the Companions. And Jarl Balgruuf has not pledged allegiance to either side in this conflict. To attack him goes against tradition, against honor."

"Sister, I know you don't like the Stormcloaks. And I hardly can judge you for holding a grudge against them. But Ulfric wouldn't be so dumb as to pillage Jorrvaskr. He's a Nord after all", Aela remarked.

"This has nothing to do with my father, sister!", Ylva glared at the huntress, "This war bleeds Skyrim dry. We are sworn to protect Skyrim and her people. How can I stand by when its evident that this war only plays into the hands of those that wish to harm her?"

"What are you referring to?", Vilkas leaned forward in his chair.

"I have solid evidence that the Thalmor are pushing the war to regain their strength to march on the Empire and Skyrim. In the Great War, they had captured Ulfric and turned him into an asset. They might have lost control over him, but the war surely plays into their hands", she explained.

"Are you sure?", the Nord pressed on.

"We got the info from the Thalmor themselves. When we broke into their headquarters to be exact", Bishop chimed in.

"And you sure you can trust that? They might have lied to you", Aela warned.

"Why would they lie in their own dossiers? Trust me, they were more than surprised when we crashed their little party", the ranger went on, "And they tried everything to make sure that we wouldn't get out. But of course, they were no match for Ylva."

"I'm not happy what happened there. And that's not the point right now either", two hazel eyes shot him a warning glance, "I want to protect Skyrim. But I can't do it without meddling with the Civil War."

"How about you talk to Ulfric himself?", Vilkas suggested.

"You're kidding!", Ylva shook her head, "I should go talk to the man that is responsible for the death of my father?"

"You are the Harbinger, the Dragonborn!", Vilkas gaze was as fierce as his sister's, "Remember that you have power and the Jarls respect and listen to you! As much as the death of your father pains you, you got to put it behind you! Go to Windhelm and talk to Ulfric, maybe you can change his plans."

"And what if that doesn't work? What if he tries to lock me up? He can use the Thu'um too and might try to kill me", she held Vilkas gaze.

"You are the Harbinger. He might be arrogant enough to think he can overturn Whiterun, but he knows that if he lays a hand on you, he'll lose the respect of many that follow him", Aela supported Vilkas suggestion, "And he will have to deal with all of us."

"What if I can't persuade him?", Ylva asked, "I can't just stand by and do nothing."

"Honor demands to do just that", Vilkas said.

"Can you justify your friends being killed while you stand by? Can you look to the other side when Ulfric claims the city? Is that honor, brother?", she stood up and raised her voice, "I can't stand by. I'm sworn to protect those that can't protect themselves. If Ulfric wants to claim my city, he'll have me to deal with."

"I knew it!", an elderly voice interrupted.

The group turned around to see Vignar Greymane standing in the doorway.

"I knew it was a mistake to let a rotten Imperial spy become the Harbinger", he snarled.

"Watch your tongue, Vignar!", Ylva squared her shoulders.

"Ulfric was right. You are more loyal to the Empire than you are to the Companions. You're not a true Nord. Your mother should have never born you!", the old warrior yelled.

"Shut your mouth, Vignar!", Farkas growled. Bishop's hand reached for his dagger. If that fool would go on, he'd gladly cut out his tongue.

"You're just as bad as her. Where's your pride as Nords? If you got any, you'd join the Stormcloaks, as I have!", the old man rambled on.

"You have WHAT?", Vilkas shot up, his face pale with anger.

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords. We as Companions, as the heirs to Ysgramor's 500, need to stand on Ulfric side. Not the damn Imperial fools like your precious sister!", he yelled on.

"That's enough!", Farkas meant to rush forward, his fist raised. His twin held him back.

"Have you gone mad Vignar?", Vilkas snarled.

"Oh no, I've never been clearer in my life", the warrior smirked, "Once Ulfric comes, I'll be the Jarl of Whiterun. And I won't let any Imperial scum live in my city."

"I see", Ylva's voice was dangerously quiet and controlled. Alarmed, Bishop looked at her. Outward she was calm, but the slight quiver of her fingers betrayed her. Oh oh....

In the blink of an eye, she leaped forward. Grabbing him by the collar of his vest, she pulled him close.

"You are a disgrace", she whispered. Realizing in what danger he was in, the old man's eyes popped open in fear. Suddenly both Farkas and Vilkas were at her side, taking the old man in their midst. Without a word, Ylva walked to the exit of the living quarters. As if in trance, everybody followed. Vignar squirmed and writhed, trying to get out of the twins hold, but they dragged him along. Bishop, both fascinated and shook followed everybody out in the training courtyard, where the whelps were still training.

Ylva stopped in the middle of the courtyard and turned around.

"Vignar Greymane", her voice was commanding and cold. Vilkas and Farkas hauled the old warrior forward, making him fall to her feet.

"You have broken your oath as a Companion", she continued, "You have conspired against your Shield-Siblings, planned to ram a dagger into your siblings' ribs. You have disgraced yourself and your honor."

"You Imperial bitch, I don't listen to anything you have to say!", Vignar snarled, "You just want to give the city to the Legion instead!"

"You are no Shield-Sibling any longer", she thundered, "I banish you from the Companions. Never dare to set your foot in Jorrvaskr or close to the Skyforge."

"Just you wait! When Ulfric comes, I'll banish you from Whiterun!", he screamed, "You are no Nord. You're the Empire's pet!"

"I AM YLVA TWICE-NAMED!", she thundered, "I'm Harbinger, named by Kodlak himself! And I am DOVAKIIN!"

The air around her vibrated with power and at the last word, the floor shook. Bishop swallowed hard. Whatever you do...never make her that angry!

"You'll be sorry!", Vignar croaked, his face white with terror.

"I wouldn't be sure", Vilkas said.

For a moment everybody seemed to be frozen in shock, trying to process what just had happened. Athis was the first to find his voice: "What was that all about?"

"We are soon getting a visit from Stormcloaks", Ylva said, "And Vignar here has been cozying up to Ulfric."

The whelps exchanged worried glances.

"And what about that Imperial...thing he said?", Erik asked.

"As most of you know, my father has been a high-ranking officer in the Imperial Legion. But I've been raised a Companion, as my mother was before me and all the way back to the original 500", she elaborated, "I am not part of the Legion, nor will I ever be."

"However", she looked from one face to the next, "I won't stand idly by if anyone threatens our city. I will counsel with Jarl Balgruuf."

"Will we have to fight Stormcloaks?", Tovar seemed to dislike the idea.

"I hope it won't come to that", Ylva sighed, "I will do my best to prevent it."

Everybody exchanged troubled gazes.

"Leave these troubles to the Circle", Vilkas said, "Better go back to your training."

"You heard him", Farkas barked.

Ylva managed a grateful smile, before retreating back into the mead hall. Bishop quickly followed. Once the doors closed and they were alone again, she crumbled. Her hands shook violently as the tension holding her together subsided.

"Come here, princess", he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her shaking form.

"What should I do Bish? Should I stand aside or shall I fight?", her voice was nothing more than a croak.

"Ladyship, listen", he gently stroked her hair, "If it comes to a siege, I can't defend you from an army! Though I hate to admit it, but even that wouldn't stop me from trying."

"Thank you, Bish. I know you care about me", she whispered.

His heart jumped and before he could stop himself, he replied: "You silly girl, you have no idea how I feel and I'd rather keep it that way. The less you know the better."


	54. A Jarl's Request

What had that been all about? Ylva was irritated by the ranger's reaction. Was he so blind that he didn't see that she long had realized that there was more between them then simple lust and companionship? She'd wished she had told him that straight away, but before she could, a guard had arrived asking for her to come to see the Jarl. Seems that her aunt had sent the courier earlier than she had told them the day before. Now, climbing the stairs to Dragonsreach, her mind went nuts.

Then there was the whole thing with Vignar. She had known the old warrior all her life. For what she knew, he had always been part of the Companions, ever since he had been young, though he had never reached the heights of the Circle. Kodlak had once explained to her, that the Grey-Mane was too bitter and too envious of the Battle-Borns, thus clouding his judgment and twisting his sense of honor. But, as a Grey-Mane, he had as much reason to be part of the Companions as she did. She wasn't sure if she had made the right choice. How would the clan react? More importantly, how would Eorlund react? As her teacher for long years, she really cherished the old smith working the Skyforge. To lose him would pain her greatly.

And there was that nagging feeling, that she was no better than Vignar. If Ulfric came, could she stand aside? No, she'd fight alongside the Empire's soldiers if it came to it. Wasn't she being a hypocrite for banning him if she would also choose a side in the conflict if she had to? Then again, there was the small chance that she might succeed in convincing Ulfric to change his plans, even if it was ever so little. No matter how noble of a bloodline that of her mother had been, it ultimately was her father that the Stormcloaks thought off when they saw her.

Entering Dragonsreach, she pushed these thoughts to the side. She needed to focus on whatever awaited her now.

"Ah, Ylva, you finally came", the Jarl looked up from a letter in his hand.

"Jarl Balgruuf, you requested to see me?", she respectfully bowed her head.

"Yes", the Jarl shifted uncomfortably in his throne, "I'm sure the rumors have reached even Jorrvaskr by now, haven't they?"

"Which ones exactly?", she continued, not wanting to give away how much she knew already.

"That Jarl Ulfric has is eyes set on our city", the Jarl frowned.

"Ah, those", Ylva nodded slowly, "Yes. They've reached us."

"General Tullius has again requested to garrison troops within the city", he grimaced, "And just now, we received a courier with some interesting reports and as Harbinger, I want to hear your opinion on it."

"As in all things, Lord, caution...", Proventus cut in, "I urge us to wait and see."

"Prey waits", Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl shot the steward a sharp glance.

"I'm of a mind with Irileth", Balgruuf said, "It's time to act."

"You plan to march on Windhelm?", the steward's eyes widened in shock.

How on Nirn could that fool manage to make it so far as to become the steward anyway? Jarl Balgruuf would be ten times better off if he'd just let Adrianna counsel him instead, she thought while trying to not let her thoughts show on her face.

"I'm not a fool, Proventus", the Jarl snapped, "I mean it's time to challenge Ulfric to face us as a man, or to declare his intentions!"

"Wait, he has not declared his intentions yet?", Ylva interrupted.

"No. He hasn't sent his ax as it is custom, but he is pulling his troops together nonetheless", the Jarl's frown deepened.

"Has he lost all sense for honor?", she shook her head in disbelief.

"What's this about an ax?", Proventus asked.

"By the Gods, have you learned nothing of the custom of Nords in your time as steward!?", Irileth rebuked him.

"If a courier with an ax is sent from one Jarl to another, one must reveal one's intentions. Should he keep the ax then there's nothing to worry about and the holds are at peace with one another", Jarl Balgruuf massaged the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by his steward's ignorance, "But, if he returns the ax, that means there will be war."

"But Ulfric will do no such thing!", Proventus continued.

"He was rather straight forward with Torygg", Irileth remarked.

"Torygg?", the Imperial turned towards her, "He simply walked up to the boy and murdered him!"

"That 'boy' was High King of Skyrim", she reminded him.

"I'm no High King, but neither am I a boy", Balgruuf shot either of his counselors a sharp glance, "If Ulfric wants to challenge my rule in the old way, let him! Though I suspect he'll prefer to send his 'Stormcloaks' to do it for him."

"And what if I talk with him?", Ylva cut in.

"What?", the Jarl looked at her in confusion.

"I am the Harbinger. Thus, my concern is for all of Skyrim. Brothers spilling each other's blood on the battlefield can hardly be good for all of Skyrim. His scheming is spitting in honor's face, especially if he not even stays true to our traditions that he himself is so proud of holding up", she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"And you think that will work?", Proventus eyed her with suspicion.

"I make no promises", Ylva ignored the steward, locking eyes with the Jarl instead, "In fact, I might get killed on the spot if I set a foot anywhere in Windhelm. Despite my mother's heritage, a lot of Stormcloaks have made it clear that they only see my father in me. But I owe it to Skyrim and all who live here to at least try."

"Well spoken", the Jarl nodded, "If anyone can reason with him then it's you. But Ulfric won't be easily swayed. If all fails, bring him this:"

The Jarl reached to the side of his throne and handed her an ax. She looked at the weapon, well aware of what it meant.

"If I should fail, I'll give it to him", she took the ax, "But if I do, it will not be as the Harbinger, but as Thane of Whiterun."

"I understand", Balgruuf held her gaze, his eyes stern, "Once you returned, come see me."

"I will", while she turned around, she added, "Hopefully."

With the heavy burden dangling from her belt, she made her way to the Companions, telling them what happened.

"So the war is coming to Whiterun", a shadow passed over Vilkas face.

"When will you leave?", Farkas asked.

"As soon as possible, I'm afraid", she sighed, "I need to be quick, or else I've failed my task before I even set out to do so."

"Sis, you can't just go around like that!", Farkas put one of his enormous hands on her cheek, "You must rest."

"Ulfric won't", she simply stated.

"From what we've heard, the army is not yet ready to march, sister", Aela stated, "And an army that size takes a long time to get anywhere, too."

"Please, little sis", Farkas made her look up at him, his blue eyes were pleading, "At least rest for tonight. If not among us, at least at the lodge."

Not being able to refuse his puppy eyes, she sighed: "All right. I won't ride all the way to Windhelm today. I'll stop at Heljarchen to rest for the night."

"Thank you, sis", her brother leaned his forehead against hers, "You gotta take care of yourself."

"I _got_ it", she was getting annoyed. She damn well knew how to take care of herself!

"Anyway, you all need to think about where you stand should Ulfric attack", she stated, "I do not take the same side as the Empire, but should our city be attacked, I will fight to protect it, regardless who is protecting it with me. I want all of you to think about if you want to fight or if you want to stay out of the conflict. Whatever you choose, I won't condemn anyone for it."

"Well spoken, sister", Vilkas nodded, "But we hope it won't come to this. We will talk once more when you return. May Ysgramor watch over you."

Bishop's eyes never left Ylva as they walked down the hill towards the stables. Her warpaint and clean and shining hair, falling into soft waves around her face, couldn't completely hide the dark circles under her eyes. Had she slept at all during the night? He had passed out soon after his head had hit the mattress only to wake in the morning to an empty and cold bed. To see the worried glances her brothers had exchanged and Vilkas' remark when they left ("You promised me to look after her!") was enough for him to understand that whatever he had to do, he had to force her to take a break.

As they arrived at the stable, two horses gave a loud and cheerful whiny.

"Allie!", Ylva greeted in response, rushing forward to sling her arms around her mare's neck.

His own stallion rushed over to great his rider, pressing the snout into his chest, huffing happily.

"Hey there pal, glad you made it back in one piece!", with a slight smile, Bishop patted the strong muscular neck.

"Ah, ye're finally back lass", the stablemaster, alarmed by the horses' noise, came out of the house. As he saw Bishop and Balo, he nodded, "I see ye finally found someone that could withstand yone mood, ye devil!"

"Don't let that fool you, Skulvar. The rider can be just as moody as the horse", Ylva joked, "They make a good team."

"That's good then", Skulvar nodded, "When they both arrived two days ago, I was worried something had happened to ye."

"I would have written a note, but we were in the middle of nowhere and a snowstorm was coming", Ylva apologetically shrugged, "Thank you for taking good care of them."

"Ye know I always do", the stablemaster grinned, "Or else I wouldn't be in the right profession. Are ye leaving already?"

"Unfortunately, yes", Ylva sighed, "Got an important errand to run."

"It's always important errands with ye, lass", Skulvar shook his head, "All right, take care. And this time, I hope both rider and steed will arrive back together and in one piece."

"Let's hope so", Bishop remarked quietly.

"Come on, Bish", Ylva winked, "It won't be that bad."

Stinging cold and snow accompanied them on their journey through the Pale. Bishop's fingers had long lost all feeling and he wasn't sure if it was bare muscle memory or if his hands had frozen around the reins.

"I see Heljarchen", Ylva's muffled voice reached him through the wind.

"Fucking finally!", he called back, more than eager to get somewhere warm. The thought of a warm stew and some mead to restore fire to his body drove him forward. But just as they reached the small settlement close to the lake Yogrim, there was a familiar and yet terrifying roar. Bishop's eyes shot up to the sky, just to see a black shadow pass over them. _Not this bastard again!_

Ylva, also recognizing the black dragon, spurred her mare, following it. Cursing, Bishop did the same to Balo, trying to catch up. Why did this woman forget everything and everyone whenever she heard or saw a fucking dragon? How would they fight that monster, with their fingers frozen and their limbs numb from the cold? They were almost half the way to Windhelm when Ylva finally reined in her horse.

"Are you mad, ladyship?!", Bishop called out, "You are in no condition to fight that monster!"

"I have to!", she yelled back, uncorking a potion of regeneration and drinking half of it, giving the rest to him, "So either you come with me or you wait here with the horses."

"Yeah, like I will let you go on your own, you crazy wench", he took the vail and downed the rest of what was in it. With that, some feeling returned to his fingers and some of the tiredness was taken care of.

Not waiting on him, she put on her helmet and took her bow out, running off to where Alduin was hovering in the air. _Damn this stupid woman!,_ he thought as he ran after her, nocking an arrow on his bow.

"SLEN TIID VO!"

The ground shook and a ray of light suddenly appeared before them. Remembering Kynesgrove, Bishop realized that there was another dragon mound here, just as suddenly bones broke through the ground not too far away from them. _Shit, shit, shit!_

Flesh and scales returned to the dragon as it roared, his soul returning to life. Ylva was already close enough to open fire on both dragons. Alduin dodged the arrows and just laughed.

"Daar lein los dii", he growled, "Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar. Viinturuth, krii dar joore!"

"I will kill _you_ , you monster", Ylva yelled, "YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Fire spilled from her mouth, hitting both the dragon still being regenerated before their eyes, as well as the black monster still in the air. Alduin growled, but instead of facing them he flew away.

"Stay to fight you coward!", she yelled after him.

"One dragon to fight is enough, don't you think?", Bishop yelled, releasing his arrow.

"Dovahkiin", the dragon growled, "Dir!"

"You wish you monster!", Ylva drew back her bow.

"FO KRAH DIIN!"

A volley of frost shot towards them, luckily not reaching far enough to cause them any harm.

"Great, just what we need", Bishop gritted his teeth, "A bloody frost breather when we are already frozen to the bone!"

"Less talking, more fighting!", Ylva bellowed. One of her arrows hit the scaled beast in the eye. Furious and in pain, the dragon moved towards them.

Suddenly, there was shouting from the road and a salve of arrows hit the dragon from the right. Bishop didn't dare look from where those arrows came, nonetheless, he was grateful for some sort of backup. The dragon roared and turned, to breath Frost at the unseen attackers. Ylva used the short moment of distraction to storm forward, switching from bow to her axes.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

Using her fire breath as a disguise, she managed to get so close that she could get on his back. In terror, Bishop had to watch how she resisted the dragon's attempt to shake her off. Cursing he ran forward, drawing the Ebony sword to come to help.

Before he could reach her, the dragon stiffened and his eyes rolled back. As his flesh began to burn away, Ylva jumped down from its back. A golden light engulfed her as she absorbed the soul. Like the many times before, a chill ran down his spine as he saw the soul being drawn into her body. While her ability to use the Thu'um already made her stand out, it was moments like this one that he couldn't deny that she was, in fact, something not from this world.

"Dragonborn", someone had come to stand next to him.

"Yes, that she is", the ranger sighed, then turned around, "Question is, _who are you?"_

"I could ask you the same thing", a soldier clad in Stormcloak uniform shot back.

"He belongs with me", Ylva came to join them and removed her helmet.

" _You?_ I remember you!", the Stormcloak exclaimed, "You were the two 'Companions' on their way to Kynesgrove."

"Yes, we were", the ranger squared his shoulders, finally remembering the patrol they met on their way to fighting there.

"And we didn't lie to you", Ylva added, "I am Ylva of the Twice-Named Clan, Harbinger of the Companions."

Bishop was surprised that she didn't shy away. He still remembered vividly how afraid she had been to encounter any Stormcloaks on the road. When had that changed? Had it something to do with her becoming the Harbinger or with something else entirely?

"I had heard that there had been a dragon attack on Kynesgrove shortly after we crossed paths", the Stormcloak said, "And that the dragon had been slain by a warrior that had just arrived. But I didn't think it was you, of all people."

"What do you mean by that?", the ranger growled.

"A daughter of Imperial scum", the other man went on, "I finally figured out why you looked familiar. I've met your father once."

"Watch your mouth", Ylva threatened, her eyes sparkling with embers.

"I would do as the lady demands", Bishop emphasized, "If you don't want to be burned alive or frozen solid."

"I'm not mad enough to anger the Dragonborn", the Nord threw up his hands to show surrender, "Even if I _do_ question why in Shor's name this fate had to fall in her hands instead of a proper Nord."

"Come on Bish, we don't have to stay here listening to him", Ylva turned to look at the skeletal remains of the dragon.

"Nok pruzah, Viinturuth", she said quietly, before whispering, "YOL."

The skeleton began to burn as her breath engulfed it.

"Stormcloak, if we should cross paths again, I want you to remember that I'm a daughter of Skyrim as pure as any other. The blood in my veins was shared by the original 500 Companions. Next time you want to insult me, remember that you are also insulting the very tradition you want to protect", she warned, shooting the Nord a glance that made all the color drain from his face.

Without another word, she left him standing there and returned to the horses.

"You're lucky that she let it pass", Bishop remarked, "I would be cautious to insult her like that again. I'll gladly cut out your tongue."

"Finally, some warmth!", the ranger rubbed his hands together as soon as they entered the tavern. Ylva chuckled at the sight, but despite her own aching fingers, she first went to the counter. After the fight for the dragon, she had decided it would be best to come back to Heljarchen, even though they were halfway to Windhelm already. Looking death in its face once a day was enough for her.

"Good evening Hadring", she greeted the innkeeper.

"Lass, you look like you've been through a rough fight", Hadring sized her up.

"Well, you could say that", she smirked, "First a long ride from Whiterun to here through wind and ice and then we had to fight a dragon."

"You're pulling my leg", he stiffened.

"I wish I was", she sighed, "This little bastard would have either attacked here or maybe the Mill. I obviously couldn't let it do that."

"What's with all the attacks lately", the innkeeper shook his head, "First Kynesgrove and now here."

"Ugh, don't remind me of Kynesgrove. That dragon was a pain in the ass", she shuddered ad the memory.

"Lass, what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into?", Hadring gave her an intense look.

"Fighting dragons and saving everyone's asses", the ranger remarked, "Cause apparently, it's her destiny or something."

"Bish!", Ylva turned around irritated.

"You're the Dragonborn? Why haven't you told me sooner! Food and the room are on the house today", the innkeeper announced.

"There's no need for that", she tried to turn him down.

"No, I insist, lass. Sit down and I'll bring you some warm stew and some mead", he said, "And the room from last time's free again too."

"Thank you", she gave up persuading the innkeeper otherwise and plopped down on a bench, stretching her cold feet towards the fire in the middle of the room and closing her eyes in bliss.

"So much for taking it easy today", the ranger dropped on the bench next to her.

"You know that this wasn't planned", she didn't open her eyes.

"Of course not", he scowled, "But as soon as that damned dragon showed up you just had to ride off, even though you've barely slept and were cold. You know damn well that this could have gotten really ugly."

"We defeated Viinturuth easily enough though, all things considered", she sighed. She felt the dragon's soul within her. It had joined his brethren and had become hers, pure power fueling her own. With every dragon she had slain she grew stronger, and fighting a dragon seemed no more dangerous than fighting a very hungry frost troll.

"Oh, for the love of...", he growled, "You drive me nuts!"

"Bish, please", she looked at him, exhaustion making her voice crack, "Let's just rest for now."

He looked at her for a long time before his shoulders sank in defeat: "Whatever you wish, sweetness."

When Hadring came with their stew and mead, she was distracted by the growling of her stomach to pay much attention to Bishop. The innkeeper even had thought of Karnwyr and brought a raw goat leg that the wolf all to eagerly dragged under the table to enjoy.

Later, when stew and mead had restored their warmth and their armor had been set aside to dry close to the fire, she found herself on Bishop's lap as he leaned against the wall, holding her tightly and burying his nose in her hair. She felt the warmth of his body leak through the linen of her shirt, felt his breath on her skin, sending nice shivers down her spine. How he managed to make her feel so at peace with herself when he held her close was beyond her, but as soon as she found shelter in his embrace the world around her stood still. Blissfully sighing, she snuggled closer.

"Run away with me", he whispered.

It took her a moment to realize both that he had said something but also what. Irritated she looked up, trying to see his expression: "What?"

"We should go, leave Skyrim for all I care", he locked his amber eyes with hers, "Just you and me, away from all this insanity. We can disappear and no one would ever find us. We can go to Cyrodiil, High Rock, anywhere you want. Just so long as it's not _here."_

Irritated, she drew back while he continued: "We can even take on new names, leave this place far behind us, and then live entirely different lives. Together. A life where you wouldn't have to be in constant danger."

_ That's the way the cookie crumbles,  _ she thought. She well knew about the danger that she had to face in her life.

"You're the insane one here", she shook her head, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh I'm insane?", he shot her an angry look, "Funny, coming from the woman who wants to stay where dragons are always trying to kill her and I have to save her ass every single damned time she gets herself into trouble."

"You're saving _my_ ass? Are you serious?", she raised her voice.

"Yeah, I am!", he shot back, "Look, just give me one damn good reason why for all of this. All the running around Skyrim, all the fighting! Because you decided to take on everyone else's problem and carry the whole of Skyrim on your shoulders! When was the last time you thought about what you wanted rather than what the rest of the world expects of you? Did you even stop to think what all of this might mean to me?"

"I'm just trying to do what's right!", she glared at him. Did he really think that she had much choice?

"What's right she says. You know what I think is right?", he raised an eyebrow, "Throwing you over my shoulder right now and saving you before you get yourself killed. Then I'll have you to myself. Listen, the 'right' thing, gets you nothing princess. You'll end up dead, broken or a beggar, trust me. At least with my way of doing what's right, you'll stay alive and so will I. I'm the least likely option to get you killed. If I were you, I'd choose to obvious which is to run away with me. I can protect you, keep you alive."

"You damn well know that I can protect myself", she crossed her arms in front of her chest, "You just don't give up, do you?"

"Why would I? If you don't know me well enough by now, you never will. Nothing worth having is easily gained", his eyes became warmer, "We belong together, can't you see that? No one else in this world will ever be good enough for either of us. You're mine and I'll be damned if I'm about to give you up."

She blinked surprised and her heart began to race. Had he just confessed his love? Well, he hadn't said the three words she was yearning to hear, but knowing the man before her she likely would never hear those anyway. A grin sneaked its way onto her face.

"Sorry, I'm a little deaf on this side. Can you speak up?", she theatrically brushed her hair behind her ear.

"By the...You heard me the first time, don't play coy with me. Just...", he groaned in frustration, "I know what it's like to fight to just survive. Right now, we don't have to."

His hand touched her cheek, gently brushing over the bone and down to her jawline.

"Give me one night, where you don't have to be the Dragonborn", he pleaded, "One night, where you're just a woman with her man. Let me show you what it means to be mine. No regrets, no conditions."

"Is that so?", she smirked while her left hand fisted his linen shirt, pulling him closer, "Better hurry ranger or your pray might get away."

"You're so impatient", he chuckled and licked his lips, "Or do you expect me to do all the hard work? That's fine by me. I'll go as long and hard as you like...If you think you can take it."

With a final pull, she captured his mouth with her own. Through his momentum, they fell back onto the mattress. His hands snaked their way under her shirt, gently caressing her sides. Tasting the sweet mead he had been drinking on her lips, made her hungry for more. Her fingers tangled in his hair while her second hand caressed the skin of his neck. As his thumbs softly stroked her buds she sucked air through her teeth. A grin curled his lips, just before they left a trail of hot kisses from her chin down to what little cleavage her shirt had. His rough hands were gentle as he continued to fondle her mounds. She arched her back, pressing herself harder against his hands and body. A soft moan escaped her lips.

"That's what I want to hear", his hot breath tingled in her ear, "Sing for me, sweetness."

Her skin was on fire, begging to be touched all over and the ranger eagerly gave in. One moment he caressed her breasts, then suddenly massaged her inner thighs. His touch was gentle but steady. He worked his magic deliberately, stirring the fire of her desire without touching her most private parts. When her body had started shaking with passion, he undressed her and himself. For a moment he devoured her with his eyes alone. She felt hot and yearned for him. A painful throbbing between her legs called out for the long and hard member so close but yet so far away. But instead answering her call and burying himself in her, he got down on his knees. When his tongue parted her folds, she threw back her head and moaned.

"By the gods!", her mouth felt dry.

"I always wanted to get a taste", his breath tickled her skin.

His mouth returned, gently nibbling on the bundle of nerves above her entrance. When his tongue began to further explore her, sucking on her folds and licking at her nectar, she wrapped her legs around his head. Her whole body was wound up to a high pitch, shivers of extasy shaking her. As his mouth returned to her bud, closing around and sucking on it the tension suddenly ripped.

"Bishop!", his name rolled from her tongue with a loud moan just as the waves washed over her. With her legs so tightly wrapped around his head, he, of course, couldn't hear her. When the waves ebbed away, she released him. He climbed on top of her, a victorious grin on his lips.

"I'm a little deaf on my ears, could you repeat that?", he playfully mocked her.

"You devil", she pulled him down for a kiss.

"Mhm, seems you liked it", he whispered, "But I'm not done with you yet."

"Are you ever?", she smirked, "Now it's my turn."

She turned them in the bed, ending on top of him.

"I see, someone wants to be in charge", he winked, "By all means, don't hold back and show me your swordsmanship."

"Smart ass", she slid down his body until she came to rest between his legs, "Let's see how cocky you will be when I do this..."

Placing one hand on the root of his manhood, she licked his length. When her tongue reached the sensitive top, she followed the defined rim. He sucked in his breath, his hands gripping fistfuls of the bedsheet. Seeing his reaction, she did it again before she gently took the entire tip in her mouth, her lips forming a tight ring around his member. When she began to painstakingly slowly move up and down his length, taking in as much as she could without gagging, he groaned, pushing his head hard into the mattress. Not being able to take all of him in, she helped herself with a hand, slowly rotating it as she moved it together with her mouth.

"Oh fuck", he moaned.

Suddenly he pulled her head back.

"By the gods, woman!", his breath came heavy and his eyes were dark with lust, "You're sure you haven't been taught the Dibellian arts?"

"Oh? Could it be that the prey has caught the ranger off guard?", she smiled.

"You temptress", holding her face between his hands he kissed her. His kiss felt like liquid fire running down her throat.

Turning on the small bed he was again on top of her, one of her legs resting over his shoulder while the other was sprawled over his thigh. Hungrily he licked his lips as he brought his member in position. Locking eyes with her he slowly entered her, inch by inch. As he touched her womb she moaned loudly.

"Sing for me darling", he encouraged her as he slowly withdrew only to return in the same frustrating pace. This was a completely different kind of torture. The last time he had been rough and painful. Now he was gentle and slow, making her beg for more, leaving her writhing under him, helpless in her desire. Her hips rose to meet him, begging, pleading. Time seemed to stretch endlessly and she became increasingly frustrated.

"Someone's impatient?", again a devilish smile spread over his face, "Tell me you want it."

"Please, Bish", she moaned, as he again withdrew, "Please."

"Please what?", he held back, further infuriating her.

"Give it to me", she croaked, her voice throaty from all the moaning.

"This here?", he teased, burying himself to the root.

"Yes!", she sucked in her breath, "Oh gods, fuck me, Bishop! Fuck me harder!"

"There we go", victorious, he finally gave her what her body so desperately desired. On the third or fourth stroke, she convulsed around him, throwing her head back and calling his name as her world became a blur. On the edge of her consciousness, she felt him twitch inside her, releasing his hot load. After that, she didn't really remember much.


	55. The City of Assholes

Standing on the bridge stretching over the River Yorgrim, Ylva took a deep breath to steady herself. When she would go through that gate, there was no turning back, as well as no escape should her fear come true. With mixed feelings, she looked straight ahead to the city on the other side of the long stone bridge.

Windhelm…when was the last time she had come here? She had been young then and in the Company of Skjor and the twins. That was long before her father had been slain, when the conflict between Stormcloaks and Legion had only been fought with small skirmishes, and Torygg still had been alive and ruling Skyrim. Back then, Skjor had lectured them on the history, on the Ysgramor Dynasty and how many of the High Kings of Skyrim had a hint of his blood in their veins.

Now the great city of old had become the center of the rebels, with Jarl Ulfric as their chosen leader. From the stories that had reached Jorrvaskr, she knew that even though a large population of Dunmer lived within the city’s walls, the townsfolk was suspicious of anyone who wasn’t a Nord.

“You could still turn back”, Bishop suggested, pulling her back from her thoughts. After last night, he had not brought up the topic of running away again until now.

“You’re a pain in the ass sometimes”, she chuckled and shook her head.

“That’s rich, coming from you”, he softly cuffed her.

Ignoring his remark, she returned her gaze to the long way across the bridge.

“Come on, it’s not getting any warmer just by standing around”, she squared her shoulders and started walking.

“Windhelm”, Bishop grumbled, “These people think it’s cold when they have their cozy little houses. I’ve endured much worse as a child.”

“Oh?”, Ylva raised an eyebrow.

“With nothing more than a few twigs to keep me warm”, he seemed lost in his memory, shuddering.

Staying quiet she hoped that he would go on as they kept walking towards the huge gate, but the ranger seemed to have lost his interest in talking altogether.

As they reached the gate, a young soldier blocked their way.

“State name and purpose”, he said.

“Ylva Twice-Named”, she squared her shoulders, ready for anything, “Here to ask Jarl Ulfric for an audience.”

“The Bear of Markath doesn’t give away audiences like warm bread”, the soldier eyed them suspiciously.

“I’m sure he’ll make an exception this time”, the ranger remarked in a bored tone.

“And why should he?”, the soldier held his ground.

“Because it would be foolish to refuse the Harbinger of the Companions”, Ylva glared at the young soldier, “ _Especially_ if she also happens to be the Dragonborn.”

The young man stared at her for a moment, before finally clearing their way.

“Well, the Jarl _would_ be interested in speaking to the Dragonborn, I guess”, he mumbled.

Relieved that it worked, she passed through the gate, Bishop and Karnwyr on her heel.

Despite the freezing cold, the streets were busy with townsfolk moving through the snow. Then again, Windhelm was always a cold place to begin with, probably the reason Ysgramor and the other Atmorans had felt at home here. Pushing her way through the crowded streets, Ylva caught several stares. To be fair, it wasn’t every day that a pair of warriors came into town clad in bone armor, even less so in the company of a wolf. Plus, Bishop and Karnwyr weren’t making the friendliest faces either. She didn’t need to look at her beloved ranger to know that he was scowling at everybody they passed.

Once they had passed the small gateway and entered the palace courtyard, the buzzing of the streets ebbed away. Leading up to the palace gates large enough to allow giants to pass through stood a row of statues clad in robes, the hoods drawn into their faces. They looked a lot like the Greybeards Ylva realized. Of course, the last time she’d seen those statues, she hadn’t yet met the Masters of the Voice.

“Let’s see if Ulfric’s home”, she remarked as she pushed open the large door.

Inside, they were immediately met by a noble dressed Nord.

“What are you doing in here?”, the Nord crossed his arms in front of his chest, “The time to bring your concerns or whatever to the Jarl has passed an hour ago!”

“I request to talk to Jarl Ulfric”, Ylva simply stated, ignoring the remark.

“Everybody wants to talk to him”, the Nord rolled his eyes, “If you want to sign up for the Stormcloaks, go talk to Galmar Stone-Fist. I don’t have time for this.”

“Are you done?”, she raised an eyebrow, “Cause quite frankly I don’t have much time either. I am the Harbinger of the Companions and need to talk to the Jarl.”

“And I’m High King of Skyrim”, the Nord shot back, “So if you're done now, I got some really important business to attend to – I’m the steward and I’ve got a job to do.”

“Listen, Jorleif”, she remembered the name from some letters sent to Jorrvaskr, “If you want to have the Companion’s help in the future, you _will_ tell Ulfric that Ylva Twice-Named, Harbinger of the Companions, is here to talk with him.”

Not waiting for an answer, she whirled around, but as she pushed open the door, she added: “He can find me at Candlehearth Hall.”

The gates fell close with an audible thud behind them.

“What’s with all these disrespectful assholes?”, Ylva fumed.

“At least you’re not biting your tongue as much as you used to”, Bishop observed, “I guess I’m rubbing off on you.”

“I’ve not gone through all this shit to get to be called a pretender”, she went on, then sighed, “I need a drink.”

“Works for me”, he put an arm around her shoulder, “Off to the inn then.”

Entering the inn, they were both greeted by the smell of a vegetable stew boiling somewhere, as well as the innkeeper: “If it’s food and drinks you’re looking for, you’ve come to the right place.”

“Some mead for the princess and me”, the ranger ordered.

“And do you have a room?”, Ylva added.

“If you can pay for it, yes”, the woman nodded.

“We can. Though I could also offer to perform for you as a bard for tonight”, she suggested, hoping that playing her lute might distract her.

“Not another one. Listen, we already got a bard. So either you pay in coin or try the inn in the knife ear’s quarter in town”, the innkeeper remarked.

“Fine!”, she counted some coin into her hands and placed them on the counter, “Just give us the room and that mead.”

The innkeeper, smart enough to not anger her even further, filled two mugs with mead and then pointed down the hallway: “First door to the left, that’s your room. Don’t make a mess.”

“Just what I needed…another reminder to never come to Windhelm ever again”, she muttered under her breath as she took her mug and went for the stairs.

They haven’t even been in the city for an hour and she was already tired of this place. If she could, she’d happily turn her back. As long as the security of Whiterun, of her home, was at stake though, she would stay put and do everything in her power to protect it. Looking around the top layer of the Candlehearth Inn, she spotted an empty table in one of the corners and headed straight towards it, not minding the small crowd gathered around the hearth.

“One more moment and I thought you’d jump over the counter and strangle that woman”, Bishop remarked as he joined her at the table.

“Believe me, I would if she would have said another word”, she rubbed the back of her nose, trying to calm her nerves, “I mean, what is it with everyone here trying to piss me off? It’s not I _want_ to be here in the first place. And _don’t_ even say that we could leave, cause we won’t. Not until I get a chance to talk to Ulfric.”

“All right, no need to snap at me”, Bishop took a sip from his mug.

Sensing her inner tension, Karnwyr plopped his furry head into her lap, looking at her with big amber puppy eyes.

“Hey pack brother”, she sighed, gently scratching the wolf between his ears, “I hope we won’t be stuck here for too long.”

“Buddy, you’re taking the best spot again”, the ranger smirked, amusement sparkling in his eyes, “Though I can’t blame you for it. That lap does look hella inviting.”

Just as she was about to make a witty remark, the soft notes from a lute draw her attention away. The crowd surrounding the hearth became suddenly quiet, captivated by whoever was playing the instrument. Once everything was quiet, the bard began to sing:

“Our hero, our hero  
Claims a warrior's heart  
I tell you, I tell you  
The Dragonborn comes.”

“I believe the Dragonborn _came_ already last night?”, Bishop whispered, making Ylva snort with laughter.

“With a Voice wielding power  
Of the ancient Nord art  
Believe, believe,  
The Dragonborn comes.”

“Why that song though”, she sighed, “He’s totally butchering it.”

“It's an end to the evil  
Of all Skyrim's foes  
Beware, beware  
The Dragonborn comes.”

The bard in question shot them a disapproving look, apparently annoyed at their interruption to his performance.

“For the darkness has passed  
And the legend yet grows  
You'll know, you'll know  
The Dragonborn's come.”

His eager listeners clapped and cheered. Ylva caught at least two women swooning over the bard as he smiled and bowed to them. Rolling her eyes, she looked down, instead focusing on petting the wolf.

“What did you think of the bard?”, she asked the ranger while working out a persistent knot in Karnwyr’s fur.

“Bards”, he spat, “As if he’d know anything about letting women come for anything. His voice alone is enough to send them running in the opposite direction.”

“That was singing?”, she happily joined him in mocking the bard, “I thought it was a couple of sabercats in heat outside.”

“Maybe it was”, he grinned widely, “Maybe we should follow the example of those sabercats tonight to block out this ‘singing’. I swear, I’d sing about you myself if it got them to shut up.”

That made her laugh out loud, making several heads turn their way: “I would pay to see that. Do a duet with Karnwyr!”

Now Bishop was the one to laugh: “Yeah, nobody could get me drunk or pay me enough to do that. Come on, I’ll get us another drink. I think my ears are bleeding.”

He got up to get them some refreshments. Smiling, Ylva watched him leave. His words had sparked an idea though. Maybe she had the perfect way to confess her love to the oh so blind ranger?

Lost in thought, she barely noticed that someone else had come over to their table. Only when Karnwyr started growling, she looked up to see the bard standing there with an angry look on his face. He was clad in a strange outfit, unlike any she had seen so far. Judging from both his height and the refined features of his face, she was guessing that he was an Imperial.

“Can I help you?”, she asked with a neutral tone.

“Are you done mocking my art?”, he stood there, hands on his hips.

“For now, yes”, she emptied the mug of mead in one large gulp.

“Don’t you know who I am?”, the bard was getting exasperated with her.

“Careful, bard”, she slammed her mug on the table, making the Imperial wince slightly, “It seems you don’t know who _you’re_ talking to. Go on like that and I’ll gladly shout you to pieces!”

The bard became suddenly very pale as he realized who he was talking to.

“Forgive me, my lady”, he bowed deeply, “have I the honor to speak to the Dragonborn?”

“I see you’re not a complete dimwit”, she nodded, “Yes, I am the Dragonborn.”

“By the Devines! It is delightful to be standing in your presence”, his complete demeanor suddenly changed. His voice was dripping in admiration and charm, making her want to punch him in his admittingly handsome face.

“You’ll be sitting in a minute”, she snarked.

He turned around to his group of admirers still lurking around the hearth: “Today, we witness a living legend among us, none other than the Dragonborn herself!”

“Will you shut up?”, she snapped at him.

“Our hero, our hero indeed who claims _this_ warrior’s heart. I told you, I told you and the Dragonborn came!”

His admirers clapped and cheered again, even though several of his female admirers glared at her with jealousy written all over their faces.

“No one’s going to come for you, especially not _me”,_ she was already wishing that Bishop would be back sooner. Why did men always seem to force their presence on her when he wasn’t around?

“If I could just have one moment of your fine company my lady”, he again bowed deeply, offering her his hand, “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Alec.”

“Are you done now?”, she grumbled, eying the stairs in hopes of seeing Bishop again.

“I have spent so much of my time studying your adventures. From your deeds as a Companion to your endless eradication of the Dragon menace”, he elaborated, ignoring both her and the wolf’s growling.

Finally, her ranger was getting back up the stairs, giving her hope that the bard would soon lose interest if he’d see she was already with somebody else. Upon seeing the bard standing at their table, Bishop’s usual frown returned and his amber eyes glowed with anger.

“You are our hero! Your strength and humility bring hope to every heart in Skyrim. We bards sing your songs so that our children’s children may remember the glory of the Dragonborn, savior of Tamriel!”, the bard seemed completely lost in his talk, that he didn’t notice the dark shadow of the ranger beside him, “Though, meeting you, I see no account of your beauty has ever given you the justice you deserve.”

“How…kind…of you to notice my looks before my brains, Alec”, she rolled her eyes, hoping that the bard would finally get the hint.

“Kindness holds no place over honesty. I speak only the truth. You are truly inspiring, a beautiful muse for the beating heart of a musician”, the bard was eloquent, she’d give him that, “Please, you must come to a special performance I’m arranging here in Windhelm. I would be delighted for you to be my guest.”

“I am not some grand title for you to advertise your excuse of a performance with!”, she narrowed her eyes at him, giving him a stare that would unsettle the hardiest of warriors in an instant. Bishop caught the look and a grin sneaked onto his face. Was it funny to him to see her struggle so much to get rid of the pest stealing away her attention?

“My apologies, perhaps that may have been a little too forward”, Alec cleared his throat, “My mouth seems to run away from me in your presence, Dragonborn. I find you inspiring, a beautiful muse for the beating heart of a musician.”

“May I introduce you to Bishop, my traveling companion?”, she gestured to the ranger.

The bard nearly jumped as he finally noticed the dark and significantly taller Nord.

“A savage? In Windhelm?”, he looked back to her, “Are you sane, Dragonborn?”

Angry, she got onto her feet. Her hands itched with the need to slap the arrogant bard. Realizing that his health was at stake, the bard backed away even more and again bowed deeply.

“I’m sorry to have offended you, my lady”, he stuttered, “I just don’t trust you with a…man like that.”

“If he is the savage you suspect, you should watch yourself”, she snarled, “Or even better, just get lost altogether.”

“And there is the compassion I have heard so much about. How very considerate of you”, if he had been offended by her words, he didn’t show it, “But I’m not sure if he should attend with you to my performance.”

“If Bishop isn’t welcome then I’m not coming”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“For you, my muse, I would do anything. I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say to change your mind?”, he stayed silent for a moment, before accepting his defeat, “Very well, if that is what you wish, your…friend…may join us.”

“Are you done now, bard?”, Bishop glared at him, “Cause you’re in my way.”

“I’ll see you at the performance”, Alec bowed yet again before returning to the crowd of his admirers.

“Seriously, princess”, Bishop placed a bottle of mead on the table, “I leave you for five seconds and you’re swarmed by other men!”

“Must be my animal magnetism”, she remarked, rewarding her with a grin from the ranger as he recognized his own words, “Seriously though, what’s it with men not getting a hint? I told him three times to fuck off.”

“Maybe next time, you should actually just use those words”, the ranger sat down, “Though having to rescue you ever so often _does_ feel nice.”

“And I have no intention of going to that fucking performance of his”, she continued.

“Oh thank the gods”, Bishop seemed relieved, “I was afraid you’d make me listening to more of his howling.”

“Are you mad? That guy clearly needs to go back to the Bard’s College or think about something better to do”, she shuddered, “That wasn’t singing, that was criminal assault. Not even Mikael in the Bannered Mare sings _that_ badly. Even though, he does have some balls for walking around in that outfit.”

“If he had any, they would surely have shown on those pants”, Bishop grinned, “I mean, what does he think he is, a jester?”

“I’ve met a jester once, close to the Loreius Farm”, she remembered, “But that fellow was completely nuts. Had a coffin loaded onto a wagon, claiming to bring his mother to a new burial crypt, but the wagon wheel was broken.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”, the ranger chuckled.

“Believe me, it’s true”, she smiled, “Loreius suspected him of smuggling stuff, but I didn’t smell anything suspicious. In fact, I only picked up the smell of an old corpse. So I helped to get the wagon wheel fixed and sent that fellow on his way.”

“You’re a crazy woman”, he shook his head.

“Come on, at least you can’t complain that it’s boring with me around”, she winked.

“There are a few words that come to my mind when I think about our little traveling group, but yeah, boring is not on that list”, he smirked.


	56. Songs of the Heart

As the afternoon progressed Ylva got more and more restless. If Ulfric wouldn’t hear her out, then she might as well see how his army was doing. Leaving the Inn, they went to the marketplace to the left. Most of the townsfolk had already finished with their errands and the merchants were slowly packing up their goods. Surprised Ylva noticed an Altmer among the Nords. Especially here in Windhelm, where any other races were looked down upon, it was surprising to see that an elf could make a living with selling goods on the main market space. Maybe the Thalmor had pulled some strings since they wanted to keep an eye on Ulfric?

She slowly walked down the different stalls, only paying minimum attention to what was on display. Instead, she tried to glimpse as much as possible from the forge. An older brawny Nord was instructing a young woman as she was hammering a simple steel sword.

“Damn lass, you gotta be faster or the blade won’t hold in battle!”, he cursed, “You don’t want to cost a soldier his life, do you?”

“Yes, Oengul”, the woman increased the speed.

“We need to get the order ready, or some soldiers are without weapons. Not that it would stop them from marching”, Oengul said.

Having heard enough to be sure that the rumors about the planned attack were true, Ylva turned around to go to the other side of town. As she passed, she spotted a chest filled with several dozens of swords. Was this just one part of the equipment? It couldn’t be, surely the Jarl of Windhelm would send more soldiers than just a few hands full to capture Whiterun.

“Looks like it’s going to be a tough fight”, she mumbled.

“What happened about trying to convince Ulfric?”, Bishop had heard her.

“I will try my best. But I have the feeling that that might not be enough”, she shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be so sure”, he winked, “With that silver tongue of yours…”

“Pff, as if”, she shook her head.

Not wanting to hang around the inn all day she headed to the other side of town. Last time, Skjor had not given them too much opportunity to actually go and see everything there was to see in Windhelm. She wanted to know if the rumors about the Grey Quarters were true. According to Athis, the conditions in which many of the Dunmer refugees living in the city lived in terrible conditions.

As they came closer, the houses lining the streets became smaller, just like the streets were getting narrower as well. As they entered a small square, Ylva’s fine senses picked up some strange smells and not all of them pleasant. Next to small shopping squares two very thin Dunmer sat, wrapped in poor and thin cloaks shaking violently in the cold. Ylva felt angry. How could anyone make people live that way? Even Brenuin, the old beggar in Whiterun lived a moderately comfortable life compared to these folks. Just as she was about to go up to the first merchant, someone tugged on her arm.

“Would…would you like to buy some flowers? Please?”, a high voice said.

Looking down she saw a young Nord girl clutching a basket. Her dress was poor and had holes in it. Was she an orphan, living in the streets like Lucia, the orphan sometimes coming to Jorrvaskr to beg for some food?

“Sure sweety, what do you have?”, Ylva bent down to look in the girl’s basket.

“Not much”, the girl looked down, “But I hope you like them!”

There only were some mountain flowers in her basket. Taking pity, Ylva dug out several coins.

“Is that enough for the blue mountain flower?”, she asked as she gave the gold to the girl.

“That’s too much!”, the girl looked up with wide eyes.

“Keep the change, sweety”, she smiled at the child, “Get yourself something warm to eat and maybe a new dress.”

“Oh thank you!”, the girl smiled.

As they both watched the girl run off to somewhere into the narrow streets of the Grey Quarter, Bishop remarked: “You sure do have a soft spot for the weak, sweetness.”

“There are too many orphans in the street nowadays”, Ylva sighed, “All because of this stupid war. I’d adopt all of them if I could, but the Lodge can’t house that many and I’m never home anyway.”

“Adopt all orphans in Skyrim?”, he shook his head, “You’re crazy. Maybe the bard wasn’t all wrong with his claptrap of your compassion or whatever.”

“What’s so wrong with helping them, Bish? No child deserves to live on the street”, she sighed, “You grow up too fast.”

“Life is hard, sweetness, the sooner they learn that the better”, the ranger remarked.

“Bish, I don’t know how hard of a life you had when you were that age, and by all means you know that my life wasn’t all sweetrolls and sunshine either”, she shot him an angry glance, “Think of me what you will, but should I ever become a mother, I would want to have my child to have love and warmth in their life.”

 

Walking through the narrow streets of the Grey Quarter, Bishop couldn’t stop thinking of her words and the warm smile she had given that orphan. Had he ever gotten such a warm smile and kindness when he was a child? He couldn’t even remember his mother smiling at him like that. Then again, she had been a cruel and twisted bitch, not really caring for any of her children.

But that wasn’t the only thing occupying his mind. Seeing Ylva around a child made him wonder what she would be like with one of her own. Would she sing to it while she’d rock it to sleep? Would she lovingly tuck it into bed at night, telling it stories about her adventures? In his head he saw her, sitting before the hearth in the Lodge, a small boy in her arms with brown hair and amber eyes. Fuck, what was wrong with him? Was he really imagining having kids with Ylva? He never wanted to become a father, never wanted that responsibility. As fucked up as he was, how could he be a good father to begin with? Yet, imagining Ylva with _his_ son on her lap, he couldn’t help but really want that, so much that his heart seemed to ache.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”, her voice snapped him out of it.

“Nothing”, he mumbled.

“Really? You’ve been acting weird since we saw that little girl”, she seemed to look right in his soul, “I mean, you haven’t even complained when I gave money to some of the refugees here.”

“You know what I think about being nosy”, he quickly hid behind his usual frown.

“I was just concerned, no need to be a dick about it”, she scowled.

Climbing up the stairs out of the Dunmeri slum, she bent her steps towards the Inn, much to Bishop's relief. All this walking around the city was boring and didn’t really bring them any closer to their goal. Maybe he could distract them both with some fun between the sheets?

Walking into Candlehearth Hall, the innkeeper called out to them: “Two messengers arrived while you were out. Next time you better tell where you’re gone, I’m not paid to bother with that.”

“Are they coming back?”, Ylva ignored the sharp tone of the innkeeper.

“No, but they left a note or something in your room”, the innkeeper turned towards another patron sitting at the counter, apparently not wanting to talk to them anymore.

Bishop didn’t need to see Ylva’s face to know that she was getting worked up again, just by the way she took in her breath and flexed her fingers. If Ulfric had sent the wrong message, he might have to watch out for an angry Dragonborn single-handedly storming his palace. The thought of it was amusing enough that a slight grin tugged on the corners of his mouth.

That grin disappeared when he heard Ylva yelling: “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“What is it ladyship?”, he rushed towards the door only to freeze in shock as he saw Ylva reading a letter, a dress hanging over her arm.

“That damned bard!”, she cursed, throwing the dress on the bed.

“Don’t tell me…”, Bishop stared at the dress. It almost had the color of Ylva’s hair, slightly darker, with a white underskirt and embroidery. It was made of high-quality linen, making it appear both elegant but also down to earth.

“Yes, that howling sabercat sent that”, she threw down the letter on the side table, “And that self-absorbed bastard has also arranged that we have little to no choice that we attend this stupid concert of his.”

“What?!”, he looked at her, his mouth falling open.

“He must have overheard that I was trying to get Ulfric to talk to me”, Ylva sighed, “I don’t know how, but he somehow seems to be in the good graces of the Bear of Markath. Ulfric has agreed to hear me out, but only when I will attend Alec’s performance with him and his court.”

“That little shit”, the ranger wiped a hand over his face.

“There’s also a note of that cursed Steward, also requesting our attendance”, she was pacing around the room.

“When’s that stupid performance going to happen?”, he knew he had no choice but to go, even if he didn’t want to. But he would rather drop dead instead of letting her go into that performance alone.

“Tonight”, she fumed, “In about two hours, we gotta get ready now.”

“Fuck that bastard”, he grumbled and only thinking about where he could get something to cover his ears with.

 

“Will you stop fidgeting with that dress?”, Bishop’s annoyed grumble was next to her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

“How can I? I feel exposed”, she bit back. Since the invitation of the Jarl had insisted on proper attire and the bloody dress had been the only thing counting towards that, Ylva had reluctantly slid into the red strap-dress that the bard had so _thoughtfully_ sent her. It had a pretty low cut and revealed most of the blue ink of her tattoo. Had it not been for her thick fur coat, she probably would have been an icicle before they’d even reached the Palace of Kings. Why on Nirn had that Alec thought that a strap-dress would be a good idea in the freezing cold of Windhelm?

Trying to distract herself, she looked at the man at her side. Of course, the bard hadn’t provided an outfit for the ranger, so he had opted for the simple linen shirt and pants, she had given him all that time ago. Not that he needed an elegant outfit to enhance his appearance. The shadow his stubble was drawing on his face was only enhanced by the light of the numerous candles in the room. His skin had a golden hue and the dance of the candle flames made it look as if he was on fire. He looked regal, high born and commanding, were it not for his eyes. Oh, how she loved these sharp and always watchful eyes, these amber orbs of the wild hunter.

“Are you ready for Alec’s performance?”, Ylva asked as she noticed how most of the other attendants were slowly taking a seat.

“No, I didn’t find enough wool to plug up my ears with”, he complained, “There’s not enough mead in all of Skyrim to make me ready for this shit.”

“If you drink fast enough, you’ll be too drunk to remember it”, she linked arms with him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Trust me, I have other ways of forgetting. Mead or not”, he chuckled lightly, kissing the crown of her head.

“Free booze, Bish”, she looked up and winked at him, “Just remember the free booze.”

“I would have happily stayed outside, far away from these city walls but no, Princes, you had to drag me into this”, he sighed.

“Come on, we both don’t want to be here”, she gently nudged him in the side, “Let’s just get this over with so that we can talk to Ulfric.”

“Please take your seats”, a woman dressed in a red robe had appeared before the stage, “The show is about to begin!”

“Let’s find a place then”, Ylva suggested, heading for an empty spot in one of the rows the furthest away from the stage. Before she could sit down, the robed woman suddenly appeared in front of them.

“You can’t sit here”, the lady informed them.

“And where should we sit then?”, the ranger grumbled, “I won’t stand around.”

“Alec requested that the lady in the red dress should sit in the front”, the woman gestured towards two chairs directly in front of the stage.

“Isn’t that Jarl Ulfric’s seat?”, Ylva eyed the woman suspiciously. One of the chairs looked more like a throne.

“Jarl Ulfric will not be attending today”, the lady explained, “These seats have been put there at the request of the Prince of Song.”

“That bastard”, Ylva’s jaw clenched in anger. Had she been set up to attend to this stupid event?

As she passed through the rows of benches to their seats, she noticed the steward sitting in one of the first rows, a horn with mead in his hand. Jorgleif saw her too and nodded in her direction. Once the bard would have stopped his wailing, she’d confront the steward.

Just as she and Bishop took their designated places, the “star” of the night. The audience clapped and cheered as he climbed the stairs to the stage.

“Good evening, Windhelm!”, his voice easily carried in the large room within the Palace’s walls. As he spoke, the audience grew quiet.

“May I thank you all for venturing out in this cold, wintry night to witness the One, the Great, Alec, the Prince of Song!”, he bowed deeply.

Ylva could only roll her eyes. That man really had an ego that even challenged that bloody mage they had met in Winterhold.

“Man, his dick must be the size of my little toe”, Bishop grumbled next to her, making her snort.

“Maybe”, she whispered a broad grin on her face, trying to contain her laughter.

“I am in deep gratitude to the steward Jorgleif, my dear friend that has allowed me to use this room to bring you all an evening of joy in these hard times”, the bard gestured towards where the steward was sitting. People clapped and cheered again.

“Alas, you have not come to hear me talk, so I will not keep you waiting any longer”, a young boy came to bring him his lute. Lovingly, the bard let his fingers run over the strings, tilting his head and closing his eyes to listen, apparently checking that the lute was tuned correctly. Ylva rolled her eyes again at the theatrics he put on. The guy really would have made a terrific jester. When the bard finally started to play, she had to admit he wasn’t half bad with his lute, even if his singing wasn’t. He had started with “Age of Oppression” a popular song in all areas that supported the Stormcloaks. As the line “All hail to Ulfric, you are the high king” came, he winked towards Jorgleif, probably his way of showing his support. The song was a good choice though, to lift the spirits of the audience.

Next, he played an instrumental piece, something that sounded more like the style of Morrowind. With the relief of not hearing his voice, she began to relax. Surprisingly she actually enjoyed herself. Steeling a glance at Bishop, she saw that he firmly held onto his typical frown, unhappy to be sitting so close to the stage. When he noticed her eyes on him, he turned. His eyes softened and a smirk replaced the frown, even if it was just for an instance. She gently let her hand run over his arm. Reaching his hand, he turned his wrist and captured her fingers with her own. It was a small gesture, so small that anyone watching them maybe wouldn’t have taken notice, but for Ylva it meant so much more. Despite sharing not one but many kisses in public, they had never held hands. Smiling happily, she leaned her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

 

As the evening dragged on, Bishop didn’t feel quite as dreadful as he had feared. With Ylva’s slender fingers tangled with his own, her auburn locks falling over his shirt as her head rested on his shoulder, he hardly could not enjoy being here. What was it with her making him forget everything around them? No matter if they were in the middle of a crowded inn or out on the road, camping somewhere in the cold wilderness of Skyrim, as long as she was there with him, close to him, everything else didn’t really matter.

The wailing sabercat on stage clearing his throat ripped him out of his comfortable bubble.

“Again, I thank all of you to come to enjoy this evening”, the bard announced, putting down the lute for the moment, “I wish to dedicate tonight’s performance to someone very special to me.”

The bard looked directly to them, making Ylva shift uncomfortably in her seat. For that alone Bishop wanted to rip the other man’s head off.

“She is the most inspiring, beautiful woman I have ever met, and I have a song in my heart that I must sing to her.”

A murmur went through the crowd and in that instant, he felt all eyes on them, no on Ylva. If her grip on his hand had suddenly tightened, he would have gone on to stage to hit that bard in the face, wiping off that smug grin.

“ _Let me dream of you and me_  
and a place to be  
Let me heal those scars unrevealed  
and wipe away the quiet tears.

 _Only you can save me,_  
only you can heal me.  
Cure my eternal loneliness  
and kill my blinding hopelessness.

 _Only you can save me._  
Only you can save me.  
Only you can save me.  
Only you can save me.

 _Let me stay near to you all day_  
and walk this road so far away  
Let me love you, let me hold you  
I will never let you go…”

A low growl started in Bishop’s chest as the nails of his free hand dug into the wood of the chair. If that guy wouldn’t stop soon, he’d really have to kill him.

 _“Because only you can save me_  
and only you can heal me.  
Change my eternal loneliness  
into everlasting happiness!

 _Only you can save me._  
Only you can save me.  
Only you can save me.  
Only you can save me.

_And let me dream, let me dream of you and me  
for all eternity, and a place where you can be with me.”_

As the audience applauded and cheered the ranger watched in horror as Ylva stood up. What in the world was she up to? Frozen in shock he watched her slowly climbing the stairs to the stage where Alec waited with a blinding grin on his face. No, she wasn’t going to fall around that wailing idiot’s neck, or was she? His heart raced as he tried willing his body to move, but it was as if a paralysis spell had been cast on him. Shit, that bard hadn’t put them under a spell, or had he?

It grew quiet as Ylva reached the stage, the audience holding their breath in anticipation. Too fixated on her face, the bard did not see the hand coming. With a loud smacking noise, her hand made contact with his face. The force made him tumble a few steps backward, almost making him lose his footing.

The look of hurt and surprise on the other’s face was priceless. Bishop couldn’t help but explode with laughter, while the rest of the audience erupted into shouts of outrage.

“ENOUGH!”, Ylva’s voice was loud and clear over the noise. She had turned away from the bard, facing the audience. Standing there in the limelight, her red mane falling over her shoulders in soft waves, she had the aura of a queen, no an empress. The simple yet beautiful dress together with her hair let the blue ink of her tattoo stand out even more against her skin. The small jeweled neckless around her neck, exchanged for her usual Amulet of Talos, drew even more attention to the remarkable artwork. Her skin looked alight as if she was on fire. Was that the power in her blood shining through?

When the people in the room settled back down, too afraid of the red goddess on stage, she faced the bard again.

“I’ve had enough of you”, she explained, her voice clear and loud, “Your arrogance and your tricks, _Prince of Song._ ”

The last words dripped with sarcasm.

“What a _Prince_ you are: Pressuring me into coming to this evening, making me sit here to listen to your wailing for hours”, she shook her head, “What you call singing is an insult to every bard out there. Your admirers must have never heard someone that can truly sing, or they would laugh at you, every time a note leaves your lips.”

Bishop cackled. Oh no, this was just too good to be true: His wonderful Ylva ridiculing the bard in front of the whole court of Windhelm. His ladyship, that used to bite her tongue around others, that had shied away from making a scene, was now exactly doing that.

“I would have suffered through it, were it not for that stupid song”, her eyes narrowed, “Did you think singing me a love ballad would make me fall for you? I’m not some dimwitted girl swooning because you smiled at her. I am the Dragonborn, the one who will face Alduin at the end of days. Some little half-talented bard will not impress me.”

Some angry cries of women could be heard, offended by her words. Bishop could only grin, leaning back into his chair as she continued her verbal attack. The bard had lost all color to his face and looked like he was about to faint.

“But you weren’t thinking that I’d swoon, no”, she glared at the bard, “You wanted to use my name, use this opportunity so that some of my fame would wash onto you. Well, at least that you will have. All of Windhelm will be talking about you tomorrow. Just not the way you wanted to.”

For a moment she looked at him, giving the chance to defend himself, but the bard was utterly speechless.

“You know, I feel bad for your audience. They had come wishing for music”, she took the lute from his hands without any resistance, “I’ll gladly show them the power of my Voice.”

Turning to the audience, she let her fingers dance over the strings. It was a familiar song, one she had done before. Bishop remembered the first time he had seen her perform. It had been in Ivarstead after they had freed Karnwyr. How long ago was that? He wasn’t sure how many months had passed since then. At least the remembered the name of the song: The Song of the Dragonborn. A fitting song to start with.

Softly humming along to the melody, she gave everyone time to enjoy the beautiful music. Only when it was quiet enough for her voice to be heard clearly, she started to sing. But instead of the words he was expecting, she sang in a different language.

 _“Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
__Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,_  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!”

She seemed to glow with power, as she sang in the old dragon tongue. Since when could she so easily switch to that language? Had all the souls she had collected within her suddenly given her the ability to speak the language so easily?

 _“Huzrah nu, kul do od, wah aan bok lingrah vod,_  
Ahrk fin tey, boziik fun, do fin gein!  
Wo lost fron wah ney dov, ahrk fin reyliik do Jul,  
Voth aan suleyk wah ronit faal krein

 _Ahrk fin zul, rok drey kod, nau tol morokei frod,_  
Rul lot Taazokaan motaad voth kein!  
Sahrot Thu'um, med aan tuz, vey zeim hokoron pah,  
Ol fin Dovahkiin komeyt ok rein!

 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
__Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan,_  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!

 _Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah,_  
Tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein!  
Alduin, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau,  
Voth aan bahlok wah diivon fin lein!

 _Nuz aan sul, fent alok, fod fin vul dovah nok,_  
Fen kos nahlot mahfaeraak ahrk ruz!  
Paaz Keizaal fen kos stin nol bein Alduin jot,  
Dovahkiin kos fin saviik do muz!

 _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,_  
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!  
Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan  
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!”

By the time the last note had faded away, people began to clap, first only a few, but their applause soon infected the others, if reluctantly. Bishop wasn’t surprised. Her voice was beautiful, soft when it needed to be and strong and powerful if she willed it to be. Hearing her sing in Dragon language also eradicated any doubts who was standing on the stage. He chuckled to himself, this woman was simply unbelievable. No wonder he loved her so much.

“Since the evening is waning, I will only sing one more song”, she gently tugged on the strings, “one I had in my heart for quite a while.”

Bishop blinked confused and looked up, only to find her gaze fixed upon him. Then she opened her mouth and suddenly it was only the two of them in the world, everything else faded from his awareness.

 _“I still remember the first time that we met._  
We locked eyes, those ambers I cannot forget.  
You were rude, an asshead and insulting too,  
but I knew that’s just what lone wolves do.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth as a slight smile curled her lips.

 _“We were two lone wolves, dancing_  
two lone wolves, howling at the moons.  
Hear this song, listen closely  
cause this wolf is tired of dancing on her own.”

Bishop’s heart skipped a beat. Was she singing about them? No, this couldn’t be.

 _“You have my back through all dangers and threats._  
When you hold me, I feel no regrets.  
You speak your mind when I don’t dare to  
and you show me lone wolves are dancers too.

 _We are two lone wolves, dancing_  
two lone wolves, howling at the moons.  
Hear this song, listen closely,  
cause this wolf is tired of dancing on her own.”

Ylva looked at him, her eyes gentle and full of emotions, taking his breath away. He felt that he was missing something, that she was telling him something important. Only what? It couldn’t what his heart was yearning for, was it?

 _“I can’t say, what the future will hold._  
There may be darkness, blood, pain, and cold.  
But with you there I can face all my fears  
so let us dance, together through all our years.

 _We are two lone wolves, dancing;_  
two lone wolves, howling at the moons.  
Hear this song, listen closely,  
cause this wolf is tired of dancing on her own.  
Hear this song, listen closely,  
cause this wolf is tired of dancing on her own.”

With pounding heart, he stood up. He wanted to get up to her, but his limbs were heavy and his knees felt suddenly so weak. So instead he clapped and with the others, while his heart was overflowing with joy. _Yes, princess, I’m tired of dancing alone too,_ he thought, _but you deserve someone better than me._


	57. Bear of Markath

Quiet and dark. Their small room was pitch black, but Ylva's heightened senses still saw the outlines of the wardrobe on one wall and the small table on the other. If she concentrated, she could hear the creaking of the wood ceiling above her. Sighing, she pulled the blanket tighter around her. The small bed made it difficult to find a comfortable position to sleep in, even more so with the body of another in it. Bishop had already drifted off to sleep, lazily wrapping an arm around her to hold her close. She could feel his warmth seeping through the linen of her shirt. His presence calmed her, yet tonight she wasn't lulled in by it enough to be able to rest. The evening had left her restless.

Especially Bishop. Why hadn't he said anything after she had performed? How could he just ignore her confession? Hadn't she been clear enough in her song? She gnawed on her lip in frustration. How could he not understand her? What more did she need to do, need to say? It had taken every bit of courage she could muster to open up to him, and he couldn't even say something? Why couldn't he just admit that there was something between them, something stronger than the shared flame of desire? She had seen it in his eyes, felt it in his attitude towards her.

Or maybe she was wrong? Maybe he had been misleading her from the start? The nagging doubt felt like a dagger between her ribs. Was she just a bedwarmer? A fun companion for the road? No, she refused to believe it. In her heart, she knew that he felt the same for her as she for him. But why did he still pull back, keep his walls wrapped tightly around him? What was he so afraid of?

 

Being kept awake for most of the night by her thoughts, she had barely gotten any sleep. Feeling tired and exhausted, she sipped green tea sitting at a table, while most of the inn's patrons were still fast asleep, including the ranger. The slightly bitter taste of the liquid helped to drive away the tiredness in her bones, preparing her for the hard day ahead of her. Were it not for her warpaint, that she had freshly applied this morning, her dark circles would have shown clearly against the warm tones of her skin. Sighing, she looked down, finding Karnwyr's warm eyes fixed upon her. The smart animal sensed that she was troubled, not leaving her side. Gently he let his pink, warm tongue lick over her hands. Smiling at her furry companion, she scratched him behind his ear.

"Thank you", she whispered, "At least you're honest about your feelings."

Karnwyr whined, leaning into her touch. Having the wolf by her side helped to soothe her aching heart. She couldn't step in front of Ulfric with her emotions clouding her judgment. No, she needed to focus on the task at hand, at the lives at stake if she should fail. On her family trusting in her. On the power of the dragon souls within her and the power in her blood.

Closing her eyes, she imagined Whiterun. The small sapling of the Gildergreen blooming, filling the streets with its sweet scent. The clinging of steel on steel echoing from the wings of the hawk guarding the Skyforge. Carlotta praising the fresh fruits and her divine bread, while also tending to her little daughter. The smiling faces of the people she called both friends and family. With all the terror and violence that surrounded them, they always managed to bring a smile to her face. They gave her a place to come back to, to find peace. And for that, she'd gladly give her life.

 

The messenger came close to noon, bringing them the news that Ulfric was finally giving them the audience they had been waiting for. Bishop had been distant the whole morning, trying to rebuild the walls that again in the night had started to crumble. His dreams had been filled with her scent, her wonderful voice. Again, he had imagined her with children surrounding her – a boy and a girl eagerly listening as she had told them the story of the 500 Companions. Their little heads had turned around as he had entered the room. Two pairs of eyes, one hazel and one amber like his own had looked at him. With their smiling and happy faces, he had woken up. Oh, how much he wanted it to not just be a dream but a reality. But him a father? No, he was too fucked up. He could not be around children. And he certainly wasn't one worthy of being loved.

No, he simply couldn't let her hang her heart on someone like him, he didn't deserve her. She was a goddess and he just a guy with a bow. She was kind and caring, and he was an asshat, rude and not pleasant to be around with. For a moment, he had considered leaving, giving her the opportunity to find someone better, more deserving of her.

Only he couldn't, simple as that. Or not simple, it was complicated and frustrating. His every fiber in his body yearned to be close to her, yearned for the future he had seen in his dreams. The fear of her harming herself because of some idiotic request or some other impossible quest that she stubbornly took upon herself was enough to make his heart stop and his blood freeze. He had to be there, had to make sure she was all right. Had to make sure this stubborn woman wasn't killing herself. And by the nine, the thought of her in another man's arms made his blood boil.

Now she was walking straight into the lion's den, or bear cave, whatever you wanted to call it, not knowing if she'd make it out alive. Never in his life would he have believed that he would face the Stormcloak leader in person. And by all means, he never cared to, either. No matter which side of the conflict would win, he'd much rather stay out of it. But Ylva couldn't, so neither could he.

Ylva...Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulder, softly resting on top of her breastplate, underneath her father's amulet had been restored after last night. The bone of her armor had been thoroughly cleaned after their last encounter with a dragon, but not all traces of the past battles could be wiped away, the small scratches here and there told of the battles with dragons and other foes. Her hands rested close to her axes, only the small twitching here and there showing how nervous she really was. Jarl Balgruuf's ax was fixed on her back, easy to grab should the need arise. She walked with her head held high and her shoulders squared. No, she wouldn't back down in a fight, if it came to it. Ulfric had to watch out.

 

Jarl Ulfric awaited them in the small room next to his throne, a map plastered on a table but without any of the normal war planning tools on the table, only some flags indicated where the Stormcloak influence was strong. There hadn't been much movement in the last years, the war was just about to take an ugly turn if the rumors would hold true. Galmar Stonefist, Ulfric's right hand sent the steward away after he had brought them to the room. Now it was only the four of them, Ulfric apparently didn't want to make a huge event out of his talk, trying to keep it hidden from his court. What were his intentions? Both he and his right hand were dressed in a fine armory, befitting a general. Were they trying to intimidate her? If so they failed.

"So, you're here", Ulfric opened, not bothering to get up from his chair.

"Jarl Ulfric, Galmar", she nodded to both men respectfully.

"I've been told by my steward you insisted on talking to me", he seized her up, "Though after what you did last night, I was in good mind to not talk to you."

"Don't tell me you feel bad for that Imperial", she raised an eyebrow questioningly. Ulfric was not known for compassion towards any other race than Nords, only caring for what in his eyes were the true children of Skyrim. The poor conditions the Dunmer were living were enough proof of that. She highly doubted that he would take offense in belittling the bard, even if she had to admit, that she had been rather cruel to him.

"Quite honestly, you did me a favor. My steward had taken quite a liking to that Imperial dog", he leaned his head to the side, showing the hints of a grin, "But he _was_ popular, so the people want me to react accordingly."

"If you wish for a public apology, better look elsewhere", Ylva crossed her arms, "I won't go back on my words regarding that bard. Besides, is that really what matters now?"

"I guess not", Ulfric straightened, "So tell me, why have you come."

"There's been talk that you plan an attack on Whiterun", she started.

"So? People talk", the Jarl waved her statement off.

"Only that it's not just people. I may not have fought in the Great War as you did, but I can smell the fire of the forges of your city day and night, hear the word around taverns. I can tell when someone builds an army", her gaze did not waver, keeping eye contact with the several years older Nord.

"You are a Companion, what should it matter to you?", he leaned back, faking boredom, but the slight twitching of his fingers told a different story.

"Yes, I am a Companion, and I am their Harbinger", she added, "My oath binds me to Skyrim and her people, _all her people._ When her sons and daughters wage war on each other, how did I then honor my oath?"

"So what, you come here to convince me to surrender to the Empire?", Ulfric sneered.

"I've come to remind you of tradition", she bit back, "Have you not challenged Torygg openly? And didn't he accept, knowing that you received training by the Greybeards? But now you seek to challenge someone that has neither stood against nor with you. Jarl Balgruuf has not sided with the Empire, and freely allows the worship of Talos in his hold. Yet here you are planning on attacking him and his city."

"Those that aren't with us are against us", Galmar cut in, squaring his shoulders, his famed warhammer – Foe Breaker – rubbing against the armor of his broad back.

"Yet you cowardly have not stated your intention", she didn't waver, Galmar's show of strength was not intimidating her in the slightest, "Shouldn't _you_ , who clings to our traditions so dearly, follow them the closest? Or is it that you fear that you will lose your advantage in battle if you should declare your intentions?"

"What do you know about traditions!", Ulfric growled.

"I was born and brought up a Companion. I'm a Twice-Named for gods' sake", Ylva stood her ground, "My family has been holding up the tradition since the Jorrvaskr landed on Skyrim's shores! Tradition dictates to either outright challenge the rule of a Jarl directly, or to make your intentions clear. You have done neither of those things."

"I will not be lectured by the daughter of a dirty DOG of the EMPIRE!", he thundered.

"You will NOT talk about my father that way", she felt the sulfur build in her breath, "He was every bit a son of Skyrim as you are!"

"You are just like him! Don't you think I know what you're trying to do?", he suddenly stood up, standing eye to eye with her, "He was a weakling, did rather talk than to act. And I see his daughter isn't any better."

"Watch your mouth!", Bishop growled, his hands moving towards his hunting knife.

"Are you letting your lover defend you? You are a weak milk drinker, just like your father", Ulfric sneered.

"ENOUGH!", she gritted her teeth, feeling flames push through between her teeth, "I've come here, Ulfric, to talk to you, not to fight you. If I'd come to challenge you and your reign in the old ways, you wouldn't be standing anymore."

At the sight of the flames coming from her mouth, Galmar's hand had moved to the ax on his back, while Ulfric had turned a shade paler than he already was.

"And I have not come to lecture you, nor condemn your actions in Solitude. I have come on behalf of honor and the lives of the many soldiers under your command as well as the people of Whiterun, that only wish to be left at peace", she had fought down the flames, keeping the dragon souls under control. She could feel them being restless in her chest, woken by her anger, "I've come to remind you, that the old ways don't require the spilling of unnecessary blood, that our ancestors would not want us fighting each other. I've come to warn you, that an attack on Whiterun would mean that you'll lose the support of many of your brothers and sisters, that see you and respect your sense of honor."

"Empty words and empty threads", Ulfric had regained his composure, "Why should I trust anything you say? Your soul is half sold to the Empire anyway!"

"My father was as much a son of Skyrim as yours was!", she growled, "He was as unhappy of the signing of the White-Gold-Concordat as you were! Only he knew that the Thalmor were only buying time, that they were going to rebuild their strength! And your rebellion only plays into the damned elves hands!"

"What do you know of the Thalmor!", Galmar shot at her.

"Probably more than you, Stone-fist, but not as much as dear Ulfric himself", she countered, "I bet dear Elenwen has a close eye on your precious leader."

Ulfric's face was a frozen mask: "Don't dare call that name in this hall!"

"Why? You don't want people to know that you've been tortured by the Thalmor? That you have been an asset, playing into their hands ever since the Markath incident?", Ylva narrowed her eyes at him, "You, the mighty and righteous leader of the _true children of Skyrim._ You are nothing more than a puppet in the hands of those bastards that only wish to put us back in shackles, turn us into their slaves once more!"

"What have you been drinking, girl?", Galmar laughed, "Have you been too much in your drink last night?"

"Ulfric, I know that it was Elenwen herself that tortured you, back in the Great War", her voice became softer, "And by all means, I know that you didn't have much choice. But if you march on Whiterun, you'll not only play into their hands. Please, Ulfric, before you waste the strength of your army on taking a city that's not even hostile toward you, why don't you built your strength when the Thalmor attack again?"

"Do you listen to yourself? Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, a puppet of the Thalmor?", Galmar shook his head, "Ulfric, tell her that she's mad."

"Shut it Galmar", Ulfric gritted his teeth, locking eyes with her, "And why should I trust you? If you truly serve _all_ of Skyrim, why are you not joining ranks with the Stormcloaks, help me to free us of those elven bastards?"

"Only if all the nations of men stand together can we win against the Thalmor. The Empire needs Skyrim as much as Skyrim needs the Empire, should the Aldmeri Dominion make a move", she insisted.

"Skyrim doesn't need shit", he shot back, "You just want Skyrim under the Empire banner, so daddy can be proud."

"I see your judgment is as clouded as your sense of honor", Ylva's hand gripped the handle of the ax on her back.

"Jarl Balgruuf sends his regards", she held the ax in front of her, offering it to Ulfric.

"Is that..?", Galmar looked from the weapon to her.

"You can bring it back to the man who sent it", Ulfric's jaw was set in determination, "And tell him to expect visitors."

Nodding, she restored the heavy burden on her back.

"Just know that I may be Companion, but _nobody_ is taking my home, neither Empire nor you!", she warned, "If you decide to attack, you'll have to face me. Though I doubt you have the guts to actually face me on the battlefield."

With that, she turned around and left the small room. As she saw the freshly decked out banquet table in the throne hall, a mischievous grin curled her lips. Only for a moment though, as she stepped to the head of the table.

"IIZ!", she shouted, her Ice breath encasing the whole banquet and everything on it in a thick layer of ice.

Grinning victoriously, she passed a servant, staring at her and the icy table with blank shock: "Tell Ulfric I just gave him a _taste_ of my power. As a _true_ Nord, he surely wouldn't mind a bit of ice."


	58. The Calm before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you EroehAurelia for your feedback on the implementation of your character Eroeh Whitepaw ❤️

“You did WHAT?!”, Jarl Balgruuf nearly fell off his throne in surprise.

“It was both a warning and payback for his insults”, Ylva explained, not even blinking at the Jarl’s shock.

“Revenge is a dish best served cold”, Irileth remarked unfazed, “I’d never think it be served _that_ cold though.”

Bishop chuckled and even Jarl Balgruuf couldn’t fight a grin replacing his anger.

“Well, at least we know where he stands”, the Jarl continued, his hand laying on top of his returned ax, “I had anticipated this and already sent a messenger to Solitude with a request of aid in return for the garrison of troops within the city. I doubt we will have long to prepare anyway.”

“I doubt it too, the forges of the Stormcloaks were hard at work”, Ylva sighed.

“Have you and your Shield-Siblings decided where they stand?”, Jarl Balgruuf eyed her, a hint of hope in his eyes.

“My Siblings are still unsure. I won’t condemn them if they stay out of the fight”, she explained, “But I can’t and I won’t. If Ulfric wants to spit honor in its face, he’ll have me to deal with. Whiterun is my home and I’ll fight whoever will attack it.”

“Well, it’s more than I could have asked for anyway”, the Jarl nodded, “I know that this is a hard decision for you, too. But I’m glad you stand with us.”

“I understand that you will need to make some preparations, my Jarl. I will return to Jorrvaskr and will do the same there”, she sighed, feeling the weight of the situation on her shoulders.

“Go, we will call for you once our scouts see the army marching”, he nodded.

 

Upon leaving the Cloud District, her feet carried her to Jorrvaskr without her even thinking about it. Her Shield-Siblings had taken the news of the attack with mixed reactions. She needed to be there now, advise the Circle as she was supposed to. Quite honestly, she’d prefer they all staying out of the conflict. The danger of them being harmed in a battle like that was too high. No, she couldn’t bear the thought of any of them being hurt because she had failed to convince Ulfric.

Lost in her thoughts and with her gut knotted up in fear, she entered the mead hall to find most of the Companions already gathered and in a heated discussion.

“I won’t fight with some Imperials!”, Njada crossed her arms, glaring at Torvar.

“Would you rather fight with those Stormcloak bastards?”, the other gave back.

“Will you two cut it out?”, Aela scolded them, “Nobody said that you’d have to pick a side anyway.”

“It’s true”, Ylva stepped forward, drawing all eyes on her, “You don’t have to pick a side. To be fair, I’d much rather not have you in the fighting itself.”

“But you’ll fight, won’t you?”, Athis exclaimed, “Shouldn’t _you_ of all people stay out of this conflict?”

“Athis!”, Vilkas warned, “Remember who you’re talking to!”

“Brother, it’s fine”, Ylva went to her seat in the middle of the banquet table, “I would be disappointed if you wouldn’t voice your doubts. And yes, Athis, as a member of the Circle and Harbinger I should be an example for all of you. Mryfwiil the Withdrawn had made a wise decision as he commanded the Companions not to be a band of mercenaries that can be bought for any war. But neither Mryfwiil nor any other Harbinger before or after him would ever let Whiterun be taken by a man that does not believe in honor or tradition.”

She looked from one of her sibling’s faces to the next.

“Brothers and Sisters”, she continued, “Ulfric has deserted honor in that he plotted to march on our city even though Jarl Balgruuf has not stood against him nor sided with those Ulfric sees as his enemies. What is worse is that he had no intention to declare his intentions, planning to march on Whiterun and take it in a surprise attack. These are methods most unworthy of any Nord and put both him and his consultants at shame. A man like that should not be one to call upon the daughters and sons of Skyrim.”

Even Njada began to slowly nod in agreement.

“I know that you doubt my loyalty because my father was in the Legion and I count some of the high-ranking officers to my friends or family”, she sighed, “But you of all people should know that my heart beats for all of Skyrim, that I’ve pledged myself to honor and glory. You and all the people in this city are my family, my home. I won’t let it be endangered because one that claims to uphold tradition forsakes the same to attack it. If that means I will fight alongside Legion soldiers so be it. It does not mean that I count myself as a member of the Legion nor that I will fight in future battles with them. I would have also fought beside Stormcloaks should it have been the other way around.”

“So, if you want to join the fight, I won’t stop you. You all know that a Companion is only bound by his or her own honor”, she concluded, “Though I _will_ fight whoever challenges me on the battlefield.”

“Well spoken, sister”, Vilkas nodded in agreement, “As for me, I’d rather protect Jorrvaskr, should some Stormcloaks get the idea of getting a souvenir.”

“I will stay too”, Farkas added.

“As will I”, Aela crossed her arms in front of her chest.

Ylva smiled satisfied. Whatever the whelps would decide, the Circle standing together on this matter would send a strong signal. She saw that some of the new members, including Erik exchange glances, slowly nodding in consent. Looking at Ria, she saw the support and admiration in the young Imperial’s eyes. No, she would not have to worry that any of her Shield-Siblings would face her on the battlefield.

 

“Come on princess, you need to clear your head”, Bishop rumbled softly as Ylva was leaning over several letters that had reached Jorrvaskr during her absence. Rubbing her stiff neck, she leaned back to look at him.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right”, she pushed the letters into a small stack and stood up, “How about a short trip to the Bannered Mare?”

“Just what I was thinking, ladyship”, he smirked, showing a hint of his canines, “Well, that and another thing.”

“Ale and sex, that’s all you men want!”, she was becoming exasperated with him.

“Now you are talking my language”, he grinned, “Let me help you out of that armor of yours. Or even better, I use my knife to cut it open, fast and simple.”

Angered that he’d even suggest something like that, she just crossed her arms in front of her chest: “How about you use your teeth since you seem to want to act like such an animal.”

“Even better”, he made a step towards her.

“Watch it, ranger”, she glared at him, “I never said yes.”

“Do you want me to sing you a silly love ballad?”, he finally seemed to have caught the anger in her voice, “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m _not_ really that kind of a guy.”

“Silly lo…you asshat!”, she fumed, pushing past him.

“Where are you going?”, he called after her.

“To get a fucking drink!”, she shouted before pushing through the door of Jorrvaskr, not caring if he’d follow. What in Oblivion was wrong with him? How could he say something like that! She had poured out her heart in front of a bunch of people, in front of _him_ and all he thought of it that it was a _silly love ballad?_

By the time she reached the Bannered Mare, she had to stop herself and take a few deep breaths. Bishop luckily was smart enough to not run after her immediately. By the gods, he could be such an ignorant ass. Straightening her back she opened the door. A wave of the smell of alcohol, the warmth of the fire and Mikael’s singing washed over her, a welcome distraction after the last moments.

Heading straight for the counter, she nodded and waved to some of the other townspeople already gathered in the inn. It was always busy this time of day, with people seeking warmth and light once the light of the day had faded away. Hulda smiled warmly as she recognized her.

“Hello friend, good to see you”, she greeted her, “The usual?”

“Yeah, and make it a double”, Ylva sighed.

“Hard day, huh?”, Hulda put down two bottles in front of her.

“You bet”, she sighed.

“I’ve heard that we’ll have some visitors soon”, the friendly Nord continued, while polishing a mug.

“Doesn’t surprise me that you already know of that”, Ylva downed the first bottle, appreciating the sweet taste of mead on her tongue as the liquid ran down her throat.

“I hope you don’t plan on drinking me dry”, Hulda watched her, “I’ve already got two drunkards over at that table.”

“You know damn well that I don’t get drunk on mead that easily – my brothers made sure I got enough training”, nonetheless she turned into the direction in which Hulda was pointing, “Oh, so that Sam guy finally found someone for his stupid drinking contest?”

“They have been at it for the last two hours already”, the innkeeper put down the mug, “So far the elfling is winning.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”, Ylva mustered the elf with interest. She had long white hair braided into a mohawk on top of her head with the braid going down over her back, almost reaching her hips. The black leather armor fit nicely around her body, showing off her figure. No wonder half the men in the room were sneaking glances to that table.

“You know what, I might just join them”, Ylva pushed away from the counter, taking the second bottle with her, “And would you mind to bring me a refill?”

“One of these days you got to tell me what you’ve been up to, you know? It’s not like you to get wasted”, Hulda called after her, but she shrugged her off.

As she pushed through the patrons of the inn to get to the table of the Breton and the elfling, she got a better look at the later. Her first impression that the white-haired woman was a Bosmer seemed to not be entirely true. The face lacked the typical elven features: the very high and pointy cheekbones, the slanted eyes, the almost nonexistent nose, and the thin lips. All these were missing. Instead, she had full lips and a delicate cute nose and her rounder face seemed to hint at a mixed heritage. What stroke her the most were the bright greenish hazel eyes that had spotted her almost immediately.

“I see you found someone for a drinking contest after all”, Ylva pulled an empty chair next to the robed figure of the Breton.

“Ah, Ylva”, Sam raised his glass of wine at her, “May I introduce you to my friend Eroeh here. She’s been quite the opponent so far.”

“Eroeh Whitepaw”, the Bosmer held up her own glass in invitation.

“Ylva Twice-Named”, she clinked her bottle of mead against the other one’s glass.

“Oh, you’re the new Harbinger, right?”, Eroeh watched her with keen eyes.

“Yes”, she sipped on her bottle, trying to remember where she had heard the name Whitepaw before, “What brought you to Whiterun if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nothing in particular. Just needed to sell some stuff on my way home to the Reach”, she played with a stray white strand of hair that had loosened from the mohawk braid.

“The Reach, eh?”, Ylva winked, “That’s a dangerous place, but you probably know that better as I do.”

“Only if you don’t know where to go”, the full lips curled into a gorgeous smile that would have many men melt. Ylva couldn’t help but like the half-mer. She had a suspicion on where the sweet smile and gorgeous blend of men and mer came from but was smart enough to not say anything about it. Instead, with a smile of her own, she leaned back in her chair.

“And so you dropped by the Bannered Mare for a drink and ran into Sam here”, she continued, “Well, it’s good to see _someone_ was up for the challenge, I was suspecting that he’d continued to harass me again.”

“There, there ladies”, Sam flashed them a strikingly charming smile, taking a nice sip from his wine glass, “With the _both_ of you here, I’m sure the evening will be most pleasant indeed.”

“Do you always talk as if you’ve got a staff up your ass?”, Eroeh watched the Breton over the rim of her own glass. Ylva snorted and spilled some mead she had been just wanting to swallow.

“Ylva, don’t you make a mess!”, Hulda suddenly appeared with the ordered refill.

“Sorry Hulda”, she quickly apologized, whipping her face, “And thanks for the fresh mead. Keep them coming tonight, I will pay you tomorrow.”

“I hope the Stormcloaks won’t be coming knocking on your doorstep tomorrow, or we’re all doomed”, Hulda just shook her head and walked away.

“Stormcloaks?”, Eroeh raised a brow in question.

“The Bear of Markath will soon be marching on the city”, Ylva informed her, “You both better get out of here soon.”

“Just as it gets interesting”, Sam sighed, pouring himself another glass, “Well, my ladies, all the more reason to enjoy ourselves tonight!”

“Don’t call him that – Bear of Markath”, Eroeh downed her glass in an incredible speed that would have turned both her brothers green with envy, “It’s an insult to anyone in the Reach.”

“He’s an ass”, the mead had started to loosen her tongue and she felt a little light-headed, “I wonder if he enjoyed that dinner.”

“Oh? Do tell”, the Breton smiled broadly at her.

“I have frosted his banquet with my Thu’um”, she giggled taking another sip from her bottle, “Should have taught him not to mess with the Dragonborn.”

Sam laughed: “A woman after my own heart.”

“That’s why the name Ylva ringed a bell”, Eroeh clacked her tongue, “So _you_ are the red-headed hero everybody and their mums are talking about. And serves that dick right. Next round goes on me.”

“I see we will be the bestest of friends”, Ylva grinned broadly. She didn’t mind sitting there, flirting with the gorgeous white-haired half-mer. It felt like she had met a kindred spirit as if they shared a bond stronger than just plain friendliness. Somehow, she wondered what it would be like if their places had been changed? What if not her but this small yet fierce woman would have been the Dragonborn? Shaking her head, she tried to clear the dizziness that had settled in. Was she already getting drunk?

“I wondered, where did you leave your shade tonight?”, Sam leaned forward, charmingly smiling at her.

“Shade?”, she asked, unsure what he meant.

“That brooding fellow that’s been following you to Oblivion and back”, he explained.

“Oh, you mean Bishop”, she grimaced, “He’s not here. And he shouldn’t if he cares for his life.”

“Sounds like someone’s angry”, Eroeh poured Ylva a glass of wine since the mead was already empty, though Ylva was not entirely sure why.

“He’s such an ass hat”, she fumed, taking the glass and downing it, her sensitive senses overwhelmed by the heavy taste. This wasn’t wine, or maybe there was something in it that made it taste different?

“So, tell him to fuck off, if he’s that much of a bother”, the half-Bosmer shrugged.

“I can’t”, Ylva sighed, clinging to her glass.

“And why is that?”, Sam joined in on the interrogation.

“I love him”, she confessed, letting her shoulders sink.

“And does he?”, Eroeh had already emptied the next glass. How did she do that while still being so sober? With every glass being emptied by her, Ylva’s respect for the woman grew. She knew she wasn’t a lightweight when it came to drinking, but this woman was something else.

“Yes. No…I don’t fucking know”, she answered sipping on her again full glass, “I _think_ he does, at least from the way he looks at me when he thinks I won’t notice and his behavior. But he doesn’t say it.”

“If it would have just been carnal desire keeping him with you, he’d already have gone”, Sam assured her, “I must say that you are an _intoxicating_ woman, and no man would ever get enough of you in that way. But with all the adventures and dangers _you_ are mixed up all the time, even the most interested would lose interest.”

“I can’t really tell if you want to piss me off or compliment me”, Ylva cut eyes at Sam.

“Don’t mind his drunken ass”, Eroeh saw to it, that all of them got a full cup in front of them, “But if he’s sticking with you through all the shit with dragons and isn’t chickening out when you are getting ready to take on Ulfric fucking Stormcloak, I bet there’s more to it than wanting to get into your pants – or armor for that matter.”

“You think so?”, Ylva felt hopeful again.

“Would I lie to you?”, the half-Bosmer gave her an innocent look, “We’ve just met.”

“Right now, I only have the feeling you want me to get piss ass drunk”, she felt the alcohol in her bloodstream.

“Me? Never”, Eroeh bat her long eyelashes.

“That would be _my_ job”, Sam flashed another of his charming smiles.

“So? You’re not doing it properly then”, the elfling sipped her wine, her eyebrow twitching ever so slightly.

“I’m just enjoying what happens, please continue my ladies”, the Breton leaned back in his chair, grinning in content. For a moment his eyes flared up black, but when she tried to focus on them her vision blurred.

“How about a game?”, Eroeh suggested.

“Cards or dice?”, Ylva asked immediately.

“How about drinking every time a blond Nord walks in?”, Sam cut in.

“We’re in fucking Whiterun…half of the townspeople have blond hair”, Ylva frowned.

“So? All the more reason to drink”, Sam smiled.

“I’m down with that”, Eroeh grinned mischievously.

 

Was it after the 11th or 13th blond Nord, whoever it was she wasn’t sure anymore, everything was so blurry and her head was spinning so badly. But suddenly she felt something warm lick her hand. Looking down she realized that Karnwyr had come to sit next to her.

“He…Hell..lo there pack bro”, she slurred, putting a hand on the table to steady herself, “Wh…what are you do…doing here?”

“I should be asking you that”, a familiar voice grumbled.

Straining her eyes, she tried to see who had come to stand behind the wolf. There was a pair of legs, yes. A pair of fine-looking legs in leather pants covered with armor. Who did they belong to? Lazily her eyes wandered further up. Oh yeah, she knew that face. These amazing amber eyes. The ranger.

“Hi Bishhhh”, she grinned.

“I gave you an hour or two to cool off and now I find you piss ass drunk”, the handsome figure crossed his arms before his chest, “How in the world did you manage to do that?”

“Pfff…”, Ylva waved his remark off, but the movement made her head swirl, “I’m not _that_ drunk.”

“Can you even stand up or do I have to throw you over my shoulder to drag you out of here?”, the rumbling voice went on.

“Are you gonna put me over your knee because I was bad?”, she giggled, “That would be fun.”

“Shit, ladyship, how much _did_ you drink?”, the sexy man seemed worried all of a sudden. Why was he worried? She was doing fine, she could still go on. All right, she’ll prove it by standing up. Now if only her legs would follow her command…

“About four bottles of mead and a shitton of Colovian brandy”, the sweet voice of her newfound friend chimed in, “So _you’re_ that fellow she’s been going on about.”

“WHAT?”, the voice sounded very pissed.

Damn, why were they talking about her and not _to_ her? She wasn’t a child! Suddenly she was standing, but the room was shifting and turning around her. Shit, what was going on? Swaying forward, she hit something hard. It smelled awfully nice. As in instinct, she clung to the nice smelling thing, closing her eyes, hoping it would stop the swaying. Strong hands wrapped themselves around her.

“You better get her home”, another voice reached her ear, but she couldn’t really pinpoint whose it was.

“Godsdamnit, princess. Four fucking mead _and_ brandy? Let’s better get you back to Jorrvaskr”, the strong arms ushered her towards the door.

“Have fun!”, Eroeh’s cheeringly waved them off, “And Ylva? You snatched yourself a cutie! Hold on to that one!”

“He’s miiine”, Ylva turned to wave but regretted as her head wouldn’t move with her. Instead, her stomach reeled. Cursing, she clung to the groaning and rambling support dragging her out of the tavern while her world drowned in a blurry fog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys want more of the wonderful Eroeh check out EroehAurelia's amazing work "Breathless"
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548581


	59. Storm over Whiterun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you EroehAurelia for your feedback on the implementation of your character Eroeh Whitepaw ❤️

Waking up felt like battling through thick and sticky frost spider webs. Her head was foggy and she didn’t dare open her eyes. The painful throbbing beneath her temples made her wonder if there were two smiths hammering her skull from the inside. Maybe if she tried going back to sleep it would go away? But she needed to get up, her bladder wouldn’t hold much longer. It couldn’t be helped, even though she had no idea where she was, she needed to relieve herself soon.

Throwing her legs out of the bed she stood up, immediately regretting it as a sharp pain shot through her head and her stomach. She felt like she was on a ship, out during a storm on the Sea of Ghosts. Fumbling around in the dark her hand got hold of something hard and smooth – was that a bookshelf?

“Oh, so you’re finally awake”, the deep voice sounded annoyed, but also a bit amused.

“Don’t be so loud!”, Ylva croaked. Her tongue felt as if she something had died on there during the night.

“What’s wrong, sweetness? Got a little hangover?”, the voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“Go fuck yourself”, she cursed, while trying to move towards the door, stabilizing herself on the furniture in the room. She was in the Harbinger’s Quarters, she could tell by the overwhelming smell of Kodlak that suddenly had become overpowering. Why was she in this room anyway? She couldn’t remember much from the trip back to Jorrvaskr. It was all a mess in her painfully throbbing head.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed”, the little light coming in from the hallway revealed the form of the ranger.

“More like in the wrong bed all together”, she grumbled, “Why the fuck am I here?”

“Well, little miss drunk forgot that there are a bunch of new recruits and this was literally the only free bed”, the ranger went on, “Plus, it is kind of your room now.”

“I don’t need a lecture, least of all from _you_ ”, she snapped. The pain shooting through her head again made her wish she hadn’t. By Talos, when was the last time she had felt this miserable after a night of drinking? Her stomach contracted dangerously and her mouth began to water. Oh, fuck no!

Suddenly leaping forward, she pushed Bishop out of the way to find the small and well-hidden bathroom. Leaning over the hole of the toilet she heaved until her throat hurt from the acid and nothing else came. With shaking legs, she got back up and stumbled over to the wash basin to wash the wretched taste from her mouth and clean her face. She was shivering all over, not only from the cold as she only had her linen breeches and shirt on, but also from being sick. At this moment she felt incredibly weak, reminding her of when she had barely survived Sahloknir’s attack at Kynesgrove. What in the Nine’s name had been in that drink? Looking at her reflection in the looking glass on the wall, she flinched. She looked as miserable as she felt. Her warpaint was still on and only smudged in some areas. Great, at least that would hide some of her dark circles.

After some time and on wobbly legs, she left the bathroom in search of her armor. She both needed its protection and support as well one of the regeneration potions in her pouches. Closing her eyes to reduce the throbbing in her temples, she ran into her brother’s arms.

“By the Nine! Sis, you look like shit”, Farkas instantly wrapped a protective arm around her.

“I’m out of training”, she smiled weekly at him, glad it was him and not the ranger she had run into, “Haven’t had so many opportunities for heavy drinking lately.”

“How much _did_ you drink? I can’t remember you ever looking so miserable when we got wasted together”, her brother turned with her, his arm tightly around her shoulder to steady her.

“I don’t really remember”, she confessed, feeling embarrassed. There had been some bottles of mead and some wine, but thanks to Eroeh’s constant refilling her glass, she couldn’t be sure just how much she had.

“No wonder”, Bishop came towards them, his eyes glaring daggers at her, “You had four bottles of mead and downed a bottle of Colovian brandy on your own!”

“That’s why the _wine_ tasted so funny…”, she felt the redness rising in her cheeks. Why hadn’t her senses picked that up? Then again she hadn’t had brandy in a long while, usually steering away from strong drinks.

“Colovian brandy is really strong stuff”, Farkas shook his head, “You never were good with that.”

“Good to know”, Bishop remarked, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

“I see you are enjoying my suffering”, Ylva scowled, “Could you point me to my armor or are you too busy being a dick again?”

“Says Misses I-yell-at-you-for-no-good-reason-to-then-get-wasted-with-strangers”, the ranger crosses his arms and glared at her.

“Watch it!”, Farkas threatened, but he was quickly interrupted by her: “I had a damn good reason and you know it!”

Despite feeling miserable and weak she brushed off her brother’s arm and stepped in front of the ranger.

“You can be glad I left you standing, for I could have done worse things than that”, she snarled, “So either tell me where my fucking armor is or get out of my fucking way!”

“It’s in your godsdamned room, woman!”, he growled, “Be happy that I didn’t cut it open while you were out cold!”

“Do that and I’ll gladly give you a demonstration of my _cold_ shoulder”, she warned as she pushed him out of her way. The anger gave her more strength than she really had in her body at this moment. No, she didn’t want to let him see just how badly his words hurt her. How could he be so mean? Triumphant she reached the Harbinger’s Quarters without letting her weakness show, only to nearly faint as she walked through the door. Cursing, she held on to the first thing she could grab, which happened to be a book that couldn’t support her weight. Fumbling around she managed to get a hold of the bedpost to steady her as the book hit the floor with a loud thunk. Damn it, where was the pouch with her potions?

Just as she found it, the ranger and her brother stormed into the room, each face mirroring the other’s worried look. Ignoring both of them she fished through her pouch and finally found the potion of regeneration. The cool dark liquid ran down her throat and to her stomach, the healing slowly extending from there to all over her body. The throbbing in her temples ebbed away, only a slight uneasiness remaining. Her stomach calmed with the effects of the potions as well. She still felt sick, but now she could go on about her duties. There was no telling how long they had to prepare. Was Ulfric already marching his army towards them? Would they have a week to prepare, or maybe just days or some hours? There was so much to do, so many people to protect and bring to safety.

“Are you feeling better, sis?”, her brother’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Good enough to work”, she got up, looking at the mess of armor all around her, “Why don’t you go up? I bet everybody is waiting on you for the training.”

“Training? Sis, it’s almost midday”, Farkas chuckled, “You slept pretty long.”

“Oh great”, she sighed.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you two. And ranger, don’t make her angry or I’ll punch your teeth out”, her brother warned, “Sis, you better hurry. There’s someone from the legion upstairs.”

 _Wonderful, now who might that be?_ Grumbling she put on her armor, purposefully avoiding the ranger’s gaze she could feel boring into her back. What did he want anyway? An apology? No, he could forget that. Storming off may have not been the smartest thing to do, but after everything he had or more so _hadn’t_ said, she needed that break.

“Look, ladyship”, Bishop began, “I’m not sure why you’re so fucking angry with me. Whatever I said that made you so upset, I’m sorry.”

“Alright”, she sighed, slowly turning around. That was probably all she could expect from him anyway.

“So, are we good?”, he stepped closer to her.

“Yeah, we’re good”, she gave him a vague smile, gently patting his cheek. At the end of the day, she couldn’t stay mad at him for long. One look into these warm amber eyes that held her gaze unwaveringly, a wild mix of emotions playing in them, and the anger died down. Strange how that always happened, love sure was powerful magic.

“Come on, let’s go see that visitor”, she suggested, turning away.

“Are you really up for it? You look miserable”, he curled a finger under her chin, making her look up at him again.

“Should Ulfric already be at the gates, I guess I’d have to drink another potion, but for now I’m fine”, she assured him.

“You know you scared me with you running off like that”, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close, “Never scare me like that again, you hear me?”

He _had_ been really worried, she realized. Hiding the slight grin curling her lips in his chest, she closed her arms around him too, enjoying the feeling of him close to her. He might be an ignorant and hurtful prick, but he was _her_ prick.

 

The Legionnaire in question was a Legate, as far as she could tell from the armor. The Legate appeared to be an Imperial with maybe distant Redguard heritage? There was something in the features of his face and the color of his skin that just didn’t fit the rest of his strong Imperial features.

“My honor, Harbinger”, he bowed his head in respect, “I am Quentin Cipius, Legate of the Legion.”

“Cipius? I think my aunt mentioned someone with that name before”, Ylva couldn’t quite place where or when, “You haven’t been in Skyrim for long, have you?”

“Only a year”, the Legate smirked.

“And why would you honor the Companions with a visit? Shouldn’t you be up in Dragonsreach?”, Ylva moved to her chair in the middle of the room, taking her place on the banquet table. Both the whelps and the other members of the Circle were in the main hall, eyes fixed on her reaction to the Legionnaire.

“I was already there to set up the defense”, the Legate explained, “Legate Rikke asked me to seek you out and told me to thank you.”

“I’ve done what I did _not_ for any loyalty towards the Legion, my aunt should know this”, Ylva emphasized, “I did it because it was my duty to Skyrim and the people of Whiterun.”

“Of course, and the Legion respects that”, the Legate nodded again, “I understand you will be joining in the fighting?”

“Just me”, Ylva nodded, “My Shield-Siblings will watch over our ancestors’ heritage.”

“Any help is welcome”, the Legate smiled, “And to have you fighting alongside the soldiers will greatly inspire the men. The tales of the Dragonborn have already reached far beyond Skyrim’s borders. But I also come to tell you, that we received the notice, that the rebel army is on the move. We suspect they will be at the gates in a manner of three days. And they have catapults.”

“Thank you, Legate Cipius. We will prepare and I will come to theWar Council as soon as we made our preparations here”, Ylva massaged her temples, the slight pain was increasing again. Where in Oblivion did the Stormcloaks hide those catapults when she was in Windhelm?

“I’ll be in Dragonsreach then”, Cipius smiled and then left.

“Brothers and Sisters, we better prepare”, she stood up and straightened her back. Even if she felt the uneasiness of the battle ahead clenching her gut, she needed to be a strong beacon for her people.

 

Three days weren’t much to prepare and there was so much to do. Aela and the whelps were building barricades to block the stairs while her brothers were busy bringing the valuables from the mead hall down to the living quarters, where they would be safer from fire and theft. Ylva was busy helping in the town after checking in with the Jarl, lending a hand wherever she saw a need. As she was helping Carlotta to carry the unsold produce to her home, she saw the Grey-Manes loading some of their belongings on a cart. Seeing as Vignar was not among them, Ylva excused herself from Carlotta. 

“Good day Fralia”, Ylva greeted the elder woman, “Are you leaving the city?”

“Oh, hello Ylva”, Fralia turned to face her, “Vignar wishes us to leave.”

“I understand”, Ylva sighed, “Where’s your husband? Before you leave, I’d really want to talk to him.”

“I’m here lass”, the deep voice of the smith pulled her attention towards the Gray-Mane Manor, “Why don’t we walk for a bit?”

Her heart was heavy as she saw her smithing mentor. He didn’t seem angry, but his reservation towards her hurt nonetheless. Well, after what happened with his brother, she could hardly blame him. Nodding, they turned towards the Hall of the Dead, their feet leading them to the wall around the Wind District.

“Eorlund, I’m really sorry for what happened to Vignar”, Ylva finally started once they were out of earshot.

“Hmm”, the old smith grumbled, “You know you haven’t made dealing with him any easier. But my brother has always been thickheaded. I know your heart is in the right spot, lass. I’m not mad at you. I heard from the others what he called you.”

“Still. Grey-Manes have every right to be in the Companions and I feel bad for him”, she let her shoulders sink down, “Your family’s blood is tied to Jorrvaskr just as much as mine is. It would be a great loss to not have a Grey-Mane tend to the Skyforge.”

“Lass, there always had been a Grey-Mane tending the flames and I’ll not give up on it”, Eorlund stopped to look at her, “You know that both my brother and my sons are on the Stormcloaks side. But I will not let the Stormcloaks or Imperial bastards take another son, they already took Thorald from us. We will stay out of the battle.”

“Talos be praised”, she was relieved, “And please return to the city afterward. Balgruuf may have let some Legionnaires in, but once the danger’s over, I’m sure he’ll be happy to restore everything back to normal.”

“Let’s hope so”, the old smith smiled, “Take care, lass. If fortune shines on us, we’ll soon see each other again.”

Before Eorlund could react, she wrapped her arms around him, hugging the old man: “Be safe.”

 

Taking the long way towards Jorrvaskr, both for clearing her head and to go check on her siblings, Ylva saw a familiar white-haired head.

“Eroeh!”, she called out, catching up to the half-Bosmer.

“Oh”, the small woman turned, “Nice to see you, hun. Gotten over your hungover already?”

“I’m surprised that _you_ didn’t have one”, Ylva admitted, “How did you _do_ that?”

“Natural born talent”, the beautiful lips parted for another breathtaking smile. If her heart didn’t already belong to Bishop, this gorgeous woman might have stolen it from her.

“I heard that you managed to even drink Sam under the table”, she giggled, remembered what Hulda told her when she came to pay up only to find out that Sam had been utterly wasted while the half-Bosmer had just walk away not even swaying.

“Well, too bad for him”, Eroeh smiled wickedly, “He now owes me a staff, but that bastard has disappeared.”

“Are you looking for him then?”, Ylva pulled up an eyebrow in question.

“I’ll find him soon enough, I have my ways”, the white-haired woman giggled, “I’m on my way to the Reach. No offense, but I’d rather not stick around when that asshole of a Nord is getting close.”

Ylva could only nod understandingly. While it made her sad to lose the new-found friend so soon, no one could hardly blame her for leaving. Eroeh didn’t have close ties to the city and was just passing through, so leaving for her home in the Reach was only natural.

“Stay safe and keep an eye out for dragons”, she hugged the small half-Bosmer, “I wouldn’t want any of them giving you trouble.”

“I will don’t worry”, Eroeh patted her back, “I hope you managed to sort out your troubles with your cutie.”

“Kind of”, Ylva gave her a lopsided smile, “Some of these days I’ll hopefully get him to talk.”

“Don’t worry, hun”, the white-haired woman replied, “I don’t think he’s messing with you. Anyway, I’d better get going. You stay safe!”

 

The news of the nearing army had left the city in a turmoil that Bishop had never seen before. Whiterun was far from a sleepy city, but the usual cheerfulness of the people had been replaced with hectic and a slowly growing uneasiness. Among the fearful townsfolk, Ylva moved about like a beacon of hope. Where she was, the people were more at ease, moved around a little less worried and some even managed a smile. She moved from one place to another, helping and inspiring the people all around the city. After trying to keep up with her, Bishop had begrudgingly accepted, that it was best to stay close to Jorrvaskr, where both he and his furry brother could actually be of some help. As skilled the warriors of the Companions were, the less talented they were when it came to craftsmanship. Shaking his head at the clumsiness of the whelps trying to put together some stable and actually useful wooden barricades, he lent a hand.

It felt strange, suddenly being accepted into a group. After he had followed Ylva to Ysgramor’s Tomb, both her brothers and Aela have begun treating him with respect. Sure, the twins would sometimes make fun of him or threaten him, but they weren’t trying to kill him anymore. The whelps have come to see him as Ylva’s constant shadow. Most of them looked up to her anyway, so whatever she decided, they supported. In that, the name of whelps for the young ones seemed very fitting indeed, even though he suspected the name had more to do with the _other_ side of the Circle that he got to see. How long ago had that been? He could barely remember anymore. It felt like a lifetime ago, even though he was sure that only a few months had passed since then. Since he met Ylva, it felt that he had found a place he could belong to, something resembling a home. It was both scary as it was comfortable. One part of him screamed at him to run away, leave all this behind and go back to his tracking days, hunting game for fat lazy nobles. But another part begged him to stay, yearning for more, for friendship and the sense of having a family.

Once, he had something similar to this. The pack of bandits he and his brother had joined had given him something similar. His dear little brother, the one he had sworn to protect no matter what. In the end, he had stabbed _him_ in the back. The memory was like a sharp knife stabbed into his heart. Had he learned nothing from that? But this was different, this wasn’t a group of bandits, preying on innocent travelers. These were honored warriors, not mere swords for hires. This was a true family, siblings sworn to protect each other, no matter their differences. And he had apparently become one of them.

And then there was the woman that dragged him into this. Ylva, that had brought light into his life that he hadn’t known he was missing. The one that had shown him that there was more to life than to survive, that life could have a meaning. Only if she wasn’t the fucking Dragonborn, the savior of Tamriel. The one everybody depended on. The one putting her life on the line, fighting dragons, Deadra and what other horrors were tormenting the people. Why couldn’t she turn her back on them, why did she continue, stubbornly, to throw her life away for others? Why couldn’t she be more selfish? Why couldn’t he have her for himself?

 

The shadows were being stretched long as the sun came to set. After there wasn’t much for him to help around the Companions’ Mead Hall, he wandered up the stairs to warm his hands at the ancient fire of the Skyforge. It was here that Ylva found him, leaning against a stone wall, his forehead knotted in thought.

“Seeking some guidance from the ancient hawk?”, she asked as she came to lean beside him, her arm softly touching his own.

“There wasn’t more for me to do, so I figured I best get out of everybody’s way”, he shrugged, absentmindedly playing around with his hunting knife between his fingers.

“Something is bothering you”, she observed, “Is it still because of last night?”

“No, it’s not that”, he put away his knife and looked at her. She had tied up her wild locks in a half-up-do, keeping them out of her face. Her warpaint was smudged in several places, she probably hadn’t had a proper look at herself after she had thrown up this morning. The shadows under her eyes, as well as the strain in the beautiful hazel eyes, reminded him of how pale and weak she had looked after she had come out of the bathroom.

“Then come on and spit it out”, she gently nudged him, managing a smile.

“It’s just…”, he sighed, “I see that you’re not doing OK and I can’t figure out why. Yet you help everybody like you’re some damn Samaritan. Why do you do this? Why do you always agree to help everybody?”

“Because I _can_ help them, simple as that”, she frowned at him.

“Oh, how so very nice of you”, he grumbled, sounding harsher than he had wanted. Damn, all the frustration over the last days really got to him. Still, he couldn’t stop himself, the words were spilling out of him with nothing able to hold them back: “Mighty Dragonborn, roaming all over Skyrim and helping everyone in need while disregarding her own and those who travel with her. No one cares, Sweetness, if any of us gets hurt. They just want their stuff.”

Visibly getting worked up she pushed herself away from the rock, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I swore a fucking oath, Bish! I am tied to these people and they need me. You don’t need to understand that”, she snapped.

“Sure, risking my hide and hair is a great way to go about that”, he mirrored her posture, not backing off.

“I’m not going to become a barmaid, just because _you_ don’t like what I do, ranger!”, she warned him.

“Are you kidding me? The only risk there is that you might get your ass pinched!”, he growled.

“You’re the one who chose to stay with me!”, she reminded him, “I never forced you into this.”

“Bah! Of course, you didn’t!”, he muttered, “That was my own free will, right?”

“Then what in Oblivion is your fucking problem?”, she cursed, her in the light of the Skyforge red locks looking more like flames than hair.

Frustrated, he groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. He needed to get it cut soon, it was getting too long for his liking anyway.

“Is _tagging along_ with me really so awful?”, she put a hand on her hips.

“’Tagging along’ she says…”, he shook his head before turning back to her, “I’ve saved you more times than I care to count!”

Groaning on her own, she let her other hand run through some of her locks as well: “Then why are you so…”

“Cause I love you, you stupid woman!”, Bishop blurted, interrupting her.

Her eyes became large as the words left his mouth. For a moment, both of them just froze. Damn, that wasn’t what he wanted to say. But now that it was out, he couldn’t take it back.

“I…I love you”, he confessed closing his eyes, “And I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you because of some idiot’s needs…”

“Bishop, I”, he felt her hand gently touching his cheek.

“Bah, like you care! Enough talking!”, as if her fingers were burning him, he shied away, interrupting her before she had the chance to speak. The chaos of emotions in his chest got the better of him and he stormed off, leaving both her and Karnwyr standing by the forge, getting as much distance between them as he could to calm his stupid heart.

 

When Bishop returned later that evening, he found that Ylva had once again joined the War Council in Dragonsreach. For a moment he was disappointed to find her gone. He regretted that he hadn’t stayed, hadn’t heard what she had to say. If he was honest to himself, he had panicked, although he didn’t know what scared him more: Her _not_ confessing or her telling him what he thought he already knew?

Searching for Karnwyr, he finally found the wolf sprawled over the big bed in the Harbingers quarters.

“Are you making yourself already at home, you mutt?”, Bishop smirked as he saw his furry brother. The wolf only looked up once, then huffed.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re angry with me”, the ranger stood in front of the bed and crossed his arms. The wolf just yawned, not in the slightest impressed with his act.

“You deserter”, Bishop shook his head, “Leaving your brother for a woman. As if I hadn’t had that happen to me once before.”

Karnwyr whined, sensing his discomfort. The wolf had been there, back then, always at his side, being the only one that had stayed loyal to him, no matter of what craziness they had gotten themselves into.

“All right, seems you still have a soft spot for me”, with a sigh, he began to slip out of his armor, “Now be a good boy and at least give me an inch of bed so that I can sleep.”

Once he climbed into the bed, his furry brother moved so that he occupied the space in the middle.

“You bastard, do you want her for yourself tonight?”, Bishop grumbled, “Well, suit yourself. She’ll probably won’t be here for some time if she’s up at Dragonsreach. We can count ourselves lucky if she’ll come down to sleep at all.”

 The wolf rolled his amber eyes and yawned again, nevertheless cuddled closer to his brother. Sighing, the ranger wrapped an arm around his furry brother and drifted off in a restless sleep.

 

There was loud rumbling in his dream and fire. Screams filled his ears. There was a battlefield with bodies littering the ground, their blood slowly turning the dirt red. The stench of blood, fire and the burning of human flesh surrounded him. He stood in the middle of a field of corpses. His heart pounded with terror as he realized that he had lost track of Ylva. Where was she? Running through the bodies he frantically looked for a hint of her auburn hair and her bone armor. After an eternity of running through corpses, he finally found a fleck of white in the distance. Sprinting forward, he tried to get to her, but he didn’t appear to get any closer.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream disrupted the noises of the battlefield. It was her voice, no doubt. Spurn by fear, he finally got closer. Only to see a black monster hovering over the woman he loved. It was a pitch-black dragon, his scales sharp as spikes and teeth so large that they would easily pierce through a mammoth. Its red eyes were fixed on the woman, fiercely hacking into its claws with one hand. The other arm was pinned to her body, blood oozing out of many tears in her armor. Fuck no! His heart ached to see his beloved hurt. Then suddenly there was only fire and a heart-piercing cry.

 

“Ylva!”, with a cry, he woke. His linen shirt was soaked in sweat and his heart felt as if it had been ripped out of his chest. Looking around in the dark he realized that he was still in Jorrvaskr. Karnwyr was licking his hand, whining loudly. The wolf must have been trying to wake him up.

“Hey buddy”, Bishop patted the wolf, already calming down, “Don’t worry, I only had a nightmare.”

Looking on the other side of the bed he realized that it had not been touched. Had Ylva not come down to sleep? What time was it anyway? It was hard to tell the time of day in the living quarters. Down here in the basement, no natural light came in.

“Come on, buddy, let’s go and look for our woman”, he smirked, getting out of bed.

Sliding back into his armor he went up to see if any of the Companions were to be found. He didn’t need to look for long. Farkas was sitting at a table in the main hall, absentmindedly chewing on a slice of bread. When he noticed the ranger, he greeted him with a nod.

“Have you seen Ylva?”, Bishop didn’t see a reason to beat around the bush.

“She dropped by earlier to tell us that she’s checking on the Lodge, making sure that the place is tightly locked down”, the Nord shrugged, “She didn’t want to wake you up.”

“The fuck was she thinking?”, the ranger grumbled.

“You guys OK?”, Farkas asked.

Bishop groaned. Were they? He didn’t know. He loved her, this frustratingly selfless woman. And he was pretty sure that she felt the same. _Cause this wolf’s tired of dancing on her own…_ Shit, he was sure that it meant that she loved him.

“You know, I never understood what my sis saw in you”, the other man gestured towards the empty chair at the table, asking the ranger to take a seat, “But there must be something, I guess.”

“Your guess is as good as mine”, the ranger sat down, “I mean, I knew she was something special the first time I met her. She’s captivating, beautiful and strong. People instantly love her. But she’s also stubborn, strong-willed and selfless to the point of ruining herself.”

“Aye”, the raven-haired Nord nodded, “that’s my sis.”

“And that damned prophecy. She walks around with the weight of the world on her shoulders”, Bishop continued, wiping a hand over his face, “I see it that she suffers and it tears my heart out. She drives me nuts.”

Farkas laughed, it was a deep and rough laugh, fitting for a man his size.

“Sound’s like she’s got you good”, the Nord snorted between fits of laughter.

“Women are witches”, Bishop grumbled, “They drive you crazy with love.”

“Does she know that you love her?”, Farkas became serious again.

“I told her yesterday”, the ranger nervously rubbed his neck.

“And?”, Farkas pressed on.

“I panicked and ran off before she could say anything back”, he confessed.

“Well, then you better go and make it right”, the Companion advised, “Ylva was always stubborn. But believe me, you wouldn’t want to upset her. It could well be your death.”

“Thanks for the warning”, Bishop got up, “And also for this. I didn’t know you cared.”

“Ranger, always remember that she’s our sis”, Farkas replied, “I want her to be happy. She seems happy when she’s with you. If that will ever change, I’ll gladly knock your teeth out myself.”

“If you can get me, that is”, the ranger smirked.

“Don’t forget Aela, she’ll find you wherever you are”, Farkas grinned, showing his canines. Remembering the werewolf form of Ylva, the ranger couldn’t help but have a shiver ran down his spine. No, he certainly wouldn’t want _them_ on his back.

 

Bringing in the last batch of the freshly harvested Nirnroot leaves, Ylva again walked by the row of armors on display. As she walked past a specific set of armor, she suddenly stopped to look at it. It was her father’s set of Captain’s armor, one that had been gifted to him only shortly before he had been killed. She had kept it, putting it up as a memory of him.

“How I wish you were here with me now”, she whispered.

Looking down at the basket in her hands she sighed and put it away at her alchemy table, carefully hanging the ingredients to dry. Something drew her back to the armor. Finally giving in to the urge, she went back and sat down in front of it. The mannequin almost gave the armor a lifelike look, as her father was still wearing it.

“Ever since you were taken from me, my life has been in turmoil”, she sighed, “And I have no one to help me find my way. Everyone expects me to lead the way, be their hero. But who leads me? Who shows me how to go on?”

The flicker of the candlelight made it look as if the mannequin was looking at her.

“Dad, I miss you so much”, she whispered, “You always helped me see my path. I hope you’re happy up there in Sovengarde, drinking and celebrating with the heroes of old. If you can hear me, if you’re watching from there, please tell Shor to watch over me.”

A sudden rambling in front of the door made her jump to her feet. Were the Stormcloaks already there? Fuck, where were her axes?

“Ladyship? Are you here?”, a familiar voice called out and she relaxed.

Quickly wiping over her face, she replied: “I’m here Bish.”

“Then come and open the door”, the ranger grumbled, “you locked it.”

Oh, right. Turning the key in the lock, she let the ranger and the wolf into the house.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I would have come with you to help!”, he complained, seeing how much she had already done in the house, moving furniture and locking up her valuables.

“After yesterday, I wasn’t so sure about that”, she felt guilty for leaving him back at Jorrvaskr. Then again, he had slept so peacefully. How could she wake him, when he so rarely got a chance to get a good night’s rest?

“Yeah, about yesterday”, he locked eyes with her, “Can we talk about that?”

“What do you want to talk about?”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest. Was he going to go back on his words?

“I…no, I can’t…”, he began but stopped, ranking his fingers through his hair.

“Can’t what?”, she shifted her weight to her other leg.

“I can’t…I can’t do this, this isn’t me!”, he began pacing around the room, “For my whole life I ‘ve never cared about anyone but myself! And now…”

He stood still and turned towards her: “I care about you.”

“Bishop, wait!”, her heart was beating so quickly again. She wanted to shout at him, make him see, make him understand just how much she cared for him too.

“No. Let me finish”, he rambled on, picking up his pacing, “I can’t be sure when it happened. When a hunter’s jealousy of someone more lucky to get his prey transformed into _this_. When the desire of bedding you changed into the joy of just being near you. When I started feeling content just holding you in my hands.”

His voice cracked, showing a range of emotions she hadn’t thought possible.

“Every time you stand in front of another blasted dragon, I freeze inside, thinking that this one may become the last, despite our combined skills”, he looked at her then, fear showing in his eyes, fear for her life she realized, “Every time you sleep wounded, I dread to close my eyes, fearing to see you dead, when I open them.”

Moving like in trance, she stepped closer to him and gently touched his face.

“Is this your idea of sympathy? No…don’t answer”, he let his shoulder’s drop, “I don’t care.”

“For fuck sake!”, she gripped his collar, “Stop being so dense!”

Before he could get away, she pulled him close, kissing him with all the pent-up frustration and passion. She wanted _him_ , this stubborn man, this scared wolf. What would it take him to understand that? Her hand let go of his collar and moved to his neck, gently caressing the stubble on his jaw as she did so. Hungrily his hands seized her face and his lips opened, letting liquid fire ran down her throat. Moaning against his lips she drank it, giving her own fire back. Her tongue found his and challenged it to a duel. Bishop moved is hands down and groped her ass. Then he suddenly pulled her closer, crushing her against his chest. Because she had changed into normal clothes after a much-needed shower, she felt his armor digging into her flesh, making her gasp. His lips left hers to nibble on her neck, giving her a chance to breathe. Sucking in air, she breathed in his scent, this unique smell of autumn. Her fingers curled in his hair, pulling on it, as his teeth lightly dug into the skin of her neck. The pain made her moan and writhe in his firm hold of her body. Her skin was burning, begging him to be touched all over.

His lips returned to her mouth, drinking her mewling and gently sucking on her lower lip. The strong hands returned to her butt, lifting her off her feet. Quickly wrapping her thighs around him, she let him carry her over to the desk in her study. Once he had set her down, his hands seemed all over her, making her skin burn as he caressed her exposed shoulders, tracing her tattoo. Her own hands were busy in pealing him out from his armor. Piece by piece fell on the floor as she worked her way. Her lips never left him. She suddenly was in a haste to feel his skin on hers, tasting his desire. No matter how often they did it, she could never get enough of this man, his kisses, his touch, and his passion. Pulling down her shirt, his rough hands rubbed her nipples, making them hard. Gasping, she leaned back, putting her hand on the table to stabilize her. He bowed down, to take one of the sensitive buds in his mouth, lazily playing with it with his tongue.

“By the gods, yes”, she moaned.

“Do you like that?”, his amber eyes looked up, as he moved over to her other bud.

“Yesss”, she hissed, as his tongue caressed her other nipple as it did the first. A hand traveled down her body, lovingly caressing her thigh.

“Ahem”, someone loudly cleared their throat, “Should I come back another time?”

“AUNTIE!”, shock and embarrassment made her lean up and pulling the ranger close, to hide her exposed chest, “What in Oblivion are _you doing_ here?”

“The door was open and I _did_ knock”, her aunt didn’t bat a single eyelash, “You should probably lock your door if you’re doing something like _that.”_

“I didn’t expect anybody to come!”, Ylva pulled up her linen shirt, feeling her cheeks burning as if touched by flames.

“I guess that means the fun has to wait”, Bishop grumbled. He apparently was not happy about the interruption.

“Well, I can go back out and let you finish”, her aunt suggested.

“Stop it, both of you”, Ylva snapped, feeling extremely uncomfortable, “Why are you here, auntie?”

“Tomorrow, Ulfric’s boys will arrive”, the Legate explained, “This is an important battle and I will not stay away from the battle.”

“But I thought, that’s why you sent Cipius?”, nudging Bishop away, Ylva stood up to face her aunt in a more dignified position.

“Yes. But I will lead the men into battle”, Rikke explained.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here”, the ranger crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Am I not allowed to check in on my niece?”, the Legate glared at him, “I wanted to see if the property is well secured, maybe even leaving some soldiers here. Can’t have you homeless after the battle.”

“That’s very kind of you”, Ylva managed to say, “Though wouldn’t it be better to have the soldiers on the battlefield with us?”

“From what our scouts tell us, the forces we have now stationed in the city, together with the city guards, should outnumber Ulfric’s men”, Rikke explained.

“Well, if you insist”, she could only shrug, “But I don’t have any spare rooms in here.”

“Don’t worry, they won’t be sleeping _in_ your house”, her aunt smiled, “If the battle tomorrow goes well, they only need to stand guard this one day.”

“Then let’s hope for the best”, Ylva sighed.

 

“Sir! I.. I have…”, a soldier came storming up the stairs of the Maps Room of Dragonsreach.

“Take a moment to breathe, soldier”, Cipius commanded.

“But… sir…”, the soldier cut in.

“Breathe!”

“The outer walls are strong”, Jarl Balgruuf said, looking down at the cities layout, “If we can hold them there…”

“They are loading the catapults with fire”, Cipius cut in, reminding the Jarl of the potential danger.

“So, he wants to take my city, walls intact”, the Jarl thought out loud.

“The men will be fighting in flames”, Ylva groaned.

“My men are fearless”, the Jarl was proud of his guards, “It’s the Imperial milk drinkers I’m worried about.”

“My Jarl!”, Ylva protested.

“If you prefer”, Cipius countered, “I can take my men and leave…”

“No!”, Balgruuf quickly replied, “Of course not. Just – don’t let me down, Cipius.”

“We’ll need to set up water brigades to combat the flames”, Ylva’s eyes roamed over the cities layout. The small streams running through the city would be a good source for water, but if any of the larger buildings would start to burn, it would soon spread. Not many houses in Whiterun were made with stone, most were built with wood.

“Already taken care of”, a hint of pride swung in the Legate’s voice.

“You Imperials are efficient, I’ll give you that”, Jarl Balgruuf grumbled.

Noticing how nervously the soldier was wringing his hands, Ylva looked at him: “Done calming your breath? If so, please tell us your news.”

“The soldiers are on the move!”, the soldier said, “They’ll be at the gates at any moment.”

“Why didn’t you say so immediately!”, Cipius turned around to his soldier with angry glaring eyes.

“By Oblivion, you didn’t give him a chance to!”, Ylva cut in.

“This is it!”, the Jarl slammed his hand on the table, “Time to see what these Stormcloaks are made of.”

“The soldiers are already gathering at the gates”, Cipius explained, “Move it, soldier. Spread the word. Go. Go. Go!”

“Oblivion take them”, Balgruuf cursed, “Every miserable last one of them.”

“We _will_ hold this city”, Ylva ensured him, “I’ll go down to the front myself.”

“May the gods watch over the battle”, the Jarl muttered.

Not waiting for the others, Ylva sprinted down, her axes rumbling against her armor. She was ready for this battle, nervous but she wouldn’t back down. No one would take her city, not unless she had one last breath in her.

As she passed Jorrvaskr, she let out a sharp whistle. Karnwyr almost immediately came running towards her, quickly followed by Bishop.

“Is it time?”, the ranger asked.

“Yes”, Ylva replied grimly, “This is it. Make sure Jorrvaskr will be safe.”

“What? You know damn well that’s that not going to happen”, he replied.

“Bish, the battle will be nasty. I don’t want you to get hurt. You’re important to me!”, she said, “Please, stay here.”

“The fuck I will”, the ranger cursed, “I don’t care if I have to face fucking Ulfric Stormcloak himself. I won’t leave your side, sweetness.”

A thundering crash could be heard close by, as burning projectiles crashed into Heimskr’s little hut, setting it on fire. The impact made them both fall to the ground.  Quickly getting back up on her feet, Ylva used her Thu’um to stop the flames from spreading: “IZ!”

“We gotta go!”, she yelled at Bishop, sprinting down the stairs to the Plain’s District and towards the gates.

There were little fires everywhere with people trying to put them out before any of the houses would catch on. As often as she could, Ylva helped with an Ice-Breath, but she knew that the true battle would soon begin outside. With a heavy heart, she pushed through the gate and without stopping, leaped over one of the walls, gracefully landing on the lower gate.

Her aunt was also there, rallying up the men. In the distance, Ylva saw the blue army marching. Damn it, she cursed. There were a lot more than she had expected.

“This is it, men!”, her aunt yelled at the top of her lungs to overpower the noise of the catapults, “This is an important day for the Empire and for the Legion. And for all of Skyrim!”

The men yelled appraisal, trying to shake off their fear as the rush of battle slowly made their blood boil.

“This is the day we send a message to Ulfric Stormcloak and the rebel Jarls who support him”, her aunt continued, “But make no mistake! What we do here today, we do for Skyrim and her people. By cutting out the disease of this rebellion, we will make this country whole again!”

The men yelled even louder, beating their weapons into their shields to make even more noise.

“Ready now! Everyone, with me! For the Empire! For the Legion!”, her aunt's voice echoed in her mind as Ylva jumped down before the barricades. This was it. This was the battle that she had feared almost as much as fighting Alduin. Reading her axes, she suddenly felt the urge to puke. Damn, was that still the alcohol from the other night? Or was that her blood pulsing through her head?

Nonetheless, she couldn’t help but throw up, luckily none of the others saw her. Well, except Bishop, that had taken up her spot on the wall of the first gate.

“You alright, princess?”, he shouted down.

“I’m fine!”, she gave back, quickly wiping her face on her gauntlet and putting her helmet back on, “Give me cover, there they come.”

She had spotted a group of ten soldiers running towards them. Moving a little further away from the barricades, she blocked them.

“FUS RO DAH!”, she shouted, sending them flying backward. One of them crashed into the rocks close to the stable, leaving a bloody mark as his body lifelessly slid down the stone. The archers didn’t hesitate, using the moment to their advantage they shot a volley of arrows at the remaining soldiers. Ylva was trembling, never was the extent of her power made so clear as just now. Sure, she had killed many people before – bandits, mercenaries, assassins. But this was different. The Stormcloaks, as misled as they were, they were still her people, good people with families. Today, that didn’t matter. Forcing herself to continue, she blocked the way of the next group, her fire building in her chest.

“YOL TOR SHUL!”, the flames she spat set the ground on fire, spreading both fear and terror among the oncoming soldiers.

 _Please,_ she begged in her head as she fought off two of the soldiers that had made it through the fiery barricade, _please run away! Don’t make me do this!_ More and more Stormcloaks appeared, yelling, weapons drawn and ready to kill.

“YLVA! WATCH OUT!”, Bishop bellowed, pointing towards her left.

Some soldiers had made their way around Lilith Maiden-Loom’s house, trying to sneak up from the other side.

“FUS RO DAH!”, she fended them off in the last minute, throwing them back. One of them fell unlucky, his leg bending back and the bone snapping with a hair-raising crunch. His scream could be heard even above the continued thundering of the catapults. Looking back towards the stables, Ylva saw the next wave of soldiers approaching. Why couldn’t they pull back? How many more did she have to kill to protect the people she loved? Not ready to shout again, she charged forward, digging her ax into the neck of the first soldier to get too close to her. With the momentum of whirling around, she pulled the ax free and decapitated the next soldier.

The heavy smell of blood flooded her senses. If she couldn’t spare their lives, at least she wanted to give them a quick death, sending them straight into Sovngarde. Piercing pain in her arm made her gasp. An arrow had somehow managed to hit just between the scales of her armor. Anger and her will to survive renewed her strength and another shout built in her throat.

“SU!”

As the world spun around her and her axes danced through the air, she didn’t really know how many she killed. She only knew that by the time the Elemental Fury weakened, she was surrounded by death.

“YLVA! Get your ass out of there!”, she heard her aunt yell.

Nodding, she jumped over the barricades, taking cover behind the wall. Holstering an ax, she quickly took a potion and popped it open. The powerful effect of the regeneration potion stopped the throbbing pain and once she had pulled the arrow out of her arm, it quickly sealed the wound. Gritting her teeth, she got ready for the next wave of soldiers to hit them.

“Gods be damned!”, the voice of her aunt was coming directly from above her, “You don’t have to fight everybody alone! Get your ass up here and let the soldiers work on their own!”

“Don’t tell me how to fight!”, Ylva yelled back, pushing away from the wall, again jumping over the barricades, right in front of a Stormcloak General. The blue eyes grew large as he realized who she was, but suddenly all life went out of them, as an arrow pierced his throat. The red tail feathers were evidence enough, that it had been Bishop’s arrow.

Seeing several soldiers trying again to come from the side, Ylva quickly reacted and pushed them back: “FUS RO DAH!”

 

How many waves were there? Somewhere in the seemingly never-ending stream of soldiers, Ylva lost track. Too many. Too many were killed, too many were dead. Sometime in the middle of the struggle, as she had taken several more arrows when her body was aching and sore and she felt the grip on her axes loosen, she went back into cover. Bishop was there, defending her, putting a vail to her lips that she mindlessly drunk.

All these faces, all these dead faces around her. And the smell of blood. No other scents reached her anymore. Only the heavy stench of blood. Her ears were ringing from the continued bombardment of the catapults, the cries of pain, the yelling of the oncoming soldiers. It all was a blur. Why was she here? Why where they even fighting? She felt disoriented. Something shook her. She felt too weak to struggle against it. Was this her end?

“Cut it out!”, the ranger’s voice finally managed to break through to her, “Fucking hells of Oblivion woman! I can’t lose you!”

“Sorry”, she shook her head.

“Don’t fucking say sorry!”, Bishop pulled her on to her legs, “Come up on the fucking wall with me!”

“I have to go back!”, she muttered, already finding the strength again to grip her axes.

“No, you stupid woman, you don’t!”, he insisted, “You’ll stay here, with me and help me cover the soldiers. You hear me?!”

Looking around her, she realized that he had pulled her to the side of the wall, shielding her from view. She felt sick and torn, even though she felt the potions working within her. He was right, she couldn’t keep this up. She needed to back off. Nodding in agreement, she let herself be pushed up on the wall.

Nothing could protect her from the sight from up there though. It felt like mountains of corpses littered the floor. The once green grass close to the stables was stained in blood. So many lifeless faces looking up at Skyrim’s vast sky. All this terror, all this pain. How many soldiers had she slain? How many had she doomed? How many families would be now missing a brother, a sister, a father or a mother? With a silent cry, she sank down to her knees, violently retching until there was nothing left. Again, it was Bishop that came to her, shielded her from the view of the soldiers, that were too busy fighting the remainders of the Stormcloak army still willing to fight to take notice anyway.

“Shhh”, he pulled her close to him, not bothering about the blood and the vomit, “I’m here, sweetness. I’m always here. It will be alright, I promise.”

Clinging to him, she silently cried. Tears for those who had fallen to her hand. Tears for those who had fallen to save the city. Tears of anger, at those that had made this necessary, that had forced her into this. She knew she would never be the same after this night. How could she? She had stood by her oath, defended her home, but at what cost? Wasn’t she just as much a monster as those that she opposed? The blood of the battle would never wash away from her. It would stick to her hands as much as those that had forced her into this. She hated them for it, hated what she had done. How could she ever look into a mirror again? Never before had she so cursed the destiny that laid on her shoulder.

“It’s over”, another voice made her look up. Her aunt had come and looked down on her, her eyes hollow, mirroring her own.

“The battle is won, furball”, the Legate gently brushed away a strand of hair, “Go and rest.”

“Come, sweetness, let’s get you back to Jorrvaskr”, Bishop reassured her.

Taking a deep breath, Ylva shakenly got up to her legs.

“And don’t worry, the others didn’t notice”, Rikke remarked.

“Let’s go, I’ll be with you”, the ranger said.

“Where’s Karnwyr?”, finally, it dawned on her, that the wolf wasn’t with them.

“I told him to go back to Jorrvaskr. He’ll be fine, I’m sure”, Bishop wrapped an arm around her shoulder, steadying her as they walked down the stairs.

Just as they made it up to the gate, Jarl Balgruuf and his Housecarl appeared in front of the weary soldiers.

“Everyone, on me!”, Irileth shouted, trying to get their attention, “The Jarl wishes to speak!”

Jarl Balgruuf climbed up on the wall on the inner gate and looked down at the exhausted soldiers.

"Revel in your victory here today, even as the gods revel in your honor!”, his voice was strong and filled with pride, “They already sing of your valor and skill! The halls of Sovngarde are no doubt ringing with your praises! In defeating these Stormcloak traitors, you have proven the hollowness of their cause and the fullness of your hearts. The citizens of Whiterun are forever in your debt! But Ulfric will not stop here. No, he will continue to strike out against any true Nord who remains faithful to the Empire. He will continue to sow discord and chaos wherever he can. And so, we must each one of us, continue to fight this insurrection, lest our fallen brothers have died for naught! Lest our honor be lessened should we allow these bloodthirsty beasts to prowl our lands! Carry on men, my gratitude and blessings go with you! For Whiterun! For the Empire!"

The soldiers yelled and cheered, most of them still lost to the rush of battle. Ylva just felt sick and weak. Most of all, she felt hollow. How could she go on living after this?

“Come, let’s go inside”, Bishop mumbled, already pushing the gate open.

“Where’s the big hero? Where’s the Dragonborn?”, she heard someone call out.

“Wait”, she weakly said, “The Jarl will want to talk to me.”

“You sure you can handle that, sweetness?”, the ranger looked at her worried.

“I’ll try”, she straightened up and turned around, just in time to see the Jarl come closer.

“Thank you, Ylva”, he said, “You saved Whiterun. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done today.”

“I hope it wasn’t in vain”, she sighed, “Too many have lost their lives today…too much blood has been spent…”

“Sweetness, come on, you need rest”, Bishop urged her.

Taking a deep breath, she continued: “Jarl, if you will, I would like to make a request.”

“Name it”, the Jarl said.

“Give the soldiers that have died today a proper burial. Show that Whiterun respects _all_ of Skyrim’s children. Give their families a place for mourning their lost”, she said, “And If you’ll allow it, I want to buy and remodel Breezehome to become a shelter for the orphaned children. Whiterun should not be a place of death, but a place of life.”

The Jarl looked at her for a long time, thinking.

“Whiterun can’t afford that, you know that the coffers are almost empty”, he reminded her.

“You know that this wouldn’t be the real problem”, she continued, “If I have to, I’ll give you the money. You know that I have it. Whiterun shouldn’t be known for a place of slaughter. It should not be another Karthwasten. It should be a place of life and laughter, of second chances.”

“Alright”, the Jarl nodded, “I’ll speak to Proventus. He’ll make the proper arrangements. I’ll tell Irileth to see which of the soldiers might be up for the task and get Andrus to hold a ceremony.”

“Thank you”, Ylva nodded.

“And now rest”, the Jarl smiled, “You deserve it and you look like you need it.”

“Damn right she does”, Bishop said as he opened the gate and pushed her through. As they finally made their way through the once again quiet streets of Whiterun, Bishop only shook his head.

“You are crazy”, he remarked, “You know that?”

“Because I want to give orphan’s a home?”, she asked, leaning on him for support.

“Not only do you save the city, no”, he wrapped his arms around her again, kissing the crown of her head, “You just have to go and do even more, saving the children from the streets. How do you do that? How do you come up with that?”

“I…I don’t know”, she muttered, her vision again blurring. Darkness came and wrapped her in a nice blanket, beckoning her to come, to find shelter from all the gruesomeness she had been through today. Before she slipped away, she heard Bishop cursing and calling her name.

“Don’t you faint on me!”, she heard him as if he was far away. Then there only was calming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys want more of the wonderful Eroeh check out EroehAurelia's amazing work "Breathless"
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16548581


	60. Recovery

Worried, Bishop paced up and down in the small study at the back of the living quarters, biting his lip. He wasn’t alone, the Circle was gathered, impatiently waiting for any news about their Harbinger. Beyond the doors of the study, some of the whelps did the same.

Everybody had been shocked as he had arrived in the Mead Hall, Ylva’s limp body in his arms, bellowing for them to get a healer. He had brought her down, stripped her from her armor and checked for wounds. But there were none, at least none that he could find. Her usual warm cinnamon skin looked ill and grey. She was smeared in blood, vomit, and dirt. Had she been poisoned? But no, he didn’t see any of the tell-tale signs.

Then the priestess of Kynareth had come. After one look at her patient, she had requested warm water to wash her. Despite insisting and fighting furiously, Bishop had then been kicked out of the room, so that the priestess could work her magic unhindered.

“Bloody hell, stop moving around!”, Vilkas growled.

“Oh, _excuse me!”,_ Bishop snarled in return.

“Calm down, you two”, Farkas cut in, “We’re all worried here.”

“Farkas is right”, Aela backed him up, “There’s no use fighting.”

“I feel so useless”, Bishop hammered his hand against the wooden frame of the door out of the study, “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Danica is the best healer in all of Whiterun”, Farkas assured him, “If someone can help our sis, it’s her.”

“Why don’t you tell us what happened?”, Aela turned to him, “Since we can’t do anything else, you might as well fill us in on what happened out there.”

“It…it was a blood bath”, Bishop nervously rubbed his neck, the battle still vivid in his memory, “You’d think the Stormcloaks would have stopped sending troops after she had almost single-handedly wiped out the first two waves. But they kept coming. Don’t ask me how many, the corpses were piling up left, right and center. And in the middle of the massacre was Ylva.”

He shuddered, leaning his head against the back of his fist. So much death, so much pain. And for what? Hadn’t Ylva’s warning in Windhelm been enough for Ulfric? No, he had to spend the lives of so many of his soldiers in his attempt to take the city. If that bastard hadn’t been so fucking ignorant, if he had listened, none of it would have happened. None of the people would have died on this day, and none would have faced Ylva. His beloved Ylva. With every soldier she fell, the desperation in her eyes had become stronger. She hadn’t wished for this, had tried her best to prevent it. And yet she had been forced to play her part, wanting to protect those she loved.

How many times had she pushed herself beyond her own limits? How many of these bloody potions had she drunk to be able to continue fighting? He had seen her break a million times on the battlefield. Yet, she had continued to throw herself into battle, into swords, daggers, and arrows. Had kept on fighting, kept on killing. She had fought with desperate furiousness, showing just how much of the dragon blood ran through her veins.

The soldiers had tried to match her, pushing their limits while she pushed hers a million times over. They hadn’t seen the desperation in her eyes, the terror and pain. They hadn’t seen her crumble, crack and vomit at the massacre she had wrought. For them, she was the hero, the fierce leader, the Dragonborn. None of them had seen the woman in her, the human that couldn’t take the cruelty of war.

“Whiterun is safe”, he growled, “But at what cost?”

The others fell silent, each trying to find the right words but all of them speechless at the revelation. Only Farkas found them eventually: “Poor sis.”

At this moment, despite their differences, despite the reservations between them, their hearts and thoughts were unified in their concern for Ylva. Even if her body would recover from the fight, her mind would take much longer to heal.

The click of the door handle was like the growling of thunder during a quiet night. The priestess came out, looking exhausted, but not hopeless.

“How is she?”, Bishop nearly jumped her.

“She’ll make it”, she explained to them, “If she was harmed in the battle, there were no traces on her body anymore.”

“Why has she fainted then?”, Vilkas asked.

“She drunk too many potions”, Danica explained, “There was so much magic at work in her body, that it started to have huge side effects. And her body is exhausted. While potions heal and regenerate, they can’t make up for the power loss, for the exhaustion caused by pain. Make sure she rests properly this time. She should stay in bed, for at least the next two days. And even after that, she has to take it easy. Taking another potion too soon might cause further unpredictable side effects.”

Bishop had heard enough. He had told her to stop much earlier, but she had insisted on continuing. Now she finally had to pay the price for her stubbornness. Not caring what else the priestess had to say, he went into the bedroom to go check on Ylva. He needed to be close to her, wanted to be by her side.

The room was only lit by a few candles, making sure that she wouldn’t be woken by the light. Ylva was sleeping, her auburn hair still in the braid she had put them in before the battle. Her face was still pale and missing its usual magenta patterns. The priestess must have wiped it off, together with the other dirt from the battle. Sinking to his knees next to her, he gently caressed her cheek.

“Bish?”, she whimpered, her eyelashes fluttering.

“Shh”, he soothed her, “I’m here, sweetness. Try to sleep, you need it.”

“What happened?”, her voice was a croak.

“You had too many potions”, he placed a kiss on her forehead, “Don’t worry, you only need some rest. And now sleep. I’ll stay with you.”

“Mhm…”, she rolled onto her side, her hand aimlessly moving through the air. He caught it, gently entwining his fingers with hers.

“Sleep”, he whispered again.

Soon enough, her breathing got deeper and the grip on his hand weakened, showing that she had finally drifted off. Shifting around to sit on the bed, he didn’t lose contact with her hand. Careful not wake her, he brushed away some stray hairs around her face. Without the warpaint, she looked more fragile. Dark circles shone blue against her skin, telling him of many sleepless nights in the past days. Who could blame her? After their long hunt through that cursed Dwemer ruin, they had pretty much instantly gone on to Windhelm and rushed back to set up Whiterun’s defenses. How long has she gone without allowing herself to rest?

“I see she’s in good hands”, the priestess had reentered the room, maybe to make one final check up on her patient, “Her body will heal, and with caring and love, her soul might too.”

Bishop looked up to the priestess, nodding slowly. She had confirmed what he had already seen on the battlefield. The Stormcloaks might not have succeeded in breaking Whiterun, but they have cracked her. It would need some time for her to recover from the massacre. Maybe she had laid the foundation for that already? With the request for a memorial and the orphanage, she had not only given Skyrim something to heal but maybe even something for herself.

 

Bishop jerked awake when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Shit, when had he dozed off? Looking up he looked straight into Farkas ice-blue eyes.

“I think you should go get a bath and something to eat”, the Nord suggested, “You look like you could need it.”

“But…”, Bishop looked at the sleeping Ylva. Her face had a bit more color than the last time he had looked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll look over her while you go”, Farkas sensed his concern, “I’ll call you if she should wake.”

“Fair enough”, the ranger yawned as he stood up. Opening the wardrobe, he was glad that they had thought of bringing some change of clothes should the battle have turned into a true siege. Taking his white shirt and pants, he made off to the small bathing area. His armor had a few splatters of blood, dirt and who knew what else on it, but even then, it was still in a better condition as Ylva’s own. They would need thorough cleaning before they could be worn again.

 

Refreshed and with a filled belly, he returned to the living quarters. Farkas was sitting in a chair in the small room, watching over Ylva’s sleeping figure. When the ranger entered, the Nord nodded in greeting.

“Any change?”, Bishop asked although he could already guess the answer.

“No”, Farkas stood up, “But she’s though.”

“Tough and stubborn”, the ranger ranked his fingers through his still damp hair, “I don’t know how many times we tried to get her to move behind the barricade, but she would always jump back into battle. I don’t know how many times I saw her break today.”

“The guards and soldiers are all talking about her, about how fiercely she had fought”, Farkas shook his head, “I think she blames herself for not being able to stop Ulfric. She probably thinks this battle was her fault, maybe that’s why she couldn’t stand back.”

“That does sound like her”, Bishop had to admit.

“Well, the soldiers and guards might believe she’s this all-powerful being, but we know better. That’s why we’ll be here for her”, Farkas gently stroked her arm.

“The difficult part will just be to convince _her_ to go slow”, the ranger grumbled.

“I’m sure you can think of something”, the big Nord chuckled as he got up and patted him on the back, “I’m going to get something to eat myself now.”

Frowning, the ranger stared at the Nord as he left. What on Nirn had he meant by that? He sure got a few ideas on how to get her to stay in bed, but he was quite sure, that Ylva wouldn’t like those.

His eyes returned towards the bed where she was still fast asleep. Good, her body finally took the rest it so desperately needed. Not able to do much else, he decided to go grab a bucket of warm water and start cleaning their armors. He was sure she wouldn’t complain about having a clean set once she would wake up. With a bucket and the armor in position, he began the nasty task of cleaning.

 

Loud cracking like thunder disrupted the darkness. The smells of fire and blood clouded her senses. Where was she? Dull noises reached her ear but with the thunder still echoing in her head, it was hard to make out. Suddenly she was yanked to the side. Stumbling she fell and landed on something soft. With horror, she realized that she had landed on a body, a dead body. Looking up, her horror only grew. She was surrounded by bodies. The blue of their cuirasses was almost gone from the blood soaking their armor. Mountains and mountains of corpses littered the ground. Standing up she looked down at herself. Blood, so much blood. Never would her hands be clean again.

“Murderer!”, the corpse she had landed on opened its mouth, his voice nothing more like a croak but louder than all the thundering around her.

“Murderer!”, another one chimed in, the dead cold eyes accusing and fixed on her.

“No”, she whimpered, falling to her knees, “No.”

“You swore to protect us!”, the choir of dead voices sang, “Is that how you protect?”

“All my fault”, she hid her face in her hands.

“You failed us! Failed us!”, the choir continued, the voices getting louder and louder.

 “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”, she wept. Hands yanked at her, tossing her around. She didn’t struggle against it. How could she? She had failed them, failed her brothers and sisters. Had failed to protect and broken her oath. And now they wanted their revenge.

 

“YLVA, WAKE UP!”, someone shook her violently, just like the bodies in her dream. Jerking awake, she couldn’t make out where she was. Afraid it was one of the corpses she lashed out, hitting something or _someone._

“Ouch!”, the ranger’s rough voice grumbled.

“Bish?”, blinking several times to adjust her vision to the dim light in the room, she finally made him out.

“You got a mean punch”, he rubbed his jaw where she had hit him, “But at least you’re awake.”

“Sorry”, she croaked, her voice was hoarse, her throat still being sore.

“You must have had a hell of a nightmare”, the ranger brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up at all.”

The images still lingering in her mind, she shuddered.

“Hey, come here sweetness”, the ranger got on the bed and lay behind her, wrapping an arm around her, “I’m here for you.”

“So much death”, she whimpered, pulling her legs up.

“I know, sweetness, I know”, Bishop burrowed his nose in her hair, his arm tightening around her body as he pulled her close.

“I failed them, Bish. I failed them”, tears started pouring down her face.

“Shh, princess”, the ranger whispered, “You didn’t fail any of them. This was not your fault.”

“If I could have convinced Ulfric, none of them would have been killed”, she cried.

“You’ve tried everything, sweetness”, his voice was low and comforting, “You did all you could do. If anyone’s to blame, it’s that bastard Ulfric himself.”

“But he wasn’t the one doing the killing”, she felt like throwing up again, the stench of blood still clung to her nose.

“It doesn’t matter who wields the sword or the ax”, the ranger insisted, “He sent them to destroy Whiterun. You were only protecting.”

“I am a monster”, she blubbered out, her body convulsing as she cried.

“Don’t _ever_ say that again, sweetness!”, anger swung in his voice, “You fought because you wanted to protect the people you love, not to kill. You did all you could that the death of those that went against you was quick and painless. You’re not cruel, you’re not a monster! You are a light, a protector and hero to the people!”

“There were so many”, she sobbed.

“And thanks to you, even more got to see the light of another day”, he continued, “Because of you, the citizens of Whiterun still have a _home_. Not one of the guards, not one of the citizens came to harm because of you. And because of you, those who have lost their lives will be remembered. They have already started working on the graveyard.”

“Really? I want to see”, she sniveled.

“When you’ve regained your strength”, he caressed her hair with his other hand, “For now try to rest. Danica said you’d need it.”

“But…”, she turned her head slightly to look at him.

“No buts”, he kissed her nose, his amber eyes soft and warm, “I won’t let you go anywhere, princess. Try to sleep, I’ll stay with you.”

“I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to see the dead faces anymore”, whimpering she pressed herself into his warm embrace.

“Then just close your eyes while I keep you close, OK?”, he kissed her cheek.

“OK”, she relaxed a little. With Bishop’s arm wrapped tightly around her, she closed her eyes, focusing on his warmth seeping through her shirt. She might have imagined it, but for a moment she thought she heard him humming softly. Whatever he did, she calmed down, sleep lulling her in and giving her some dreamless rest.

 

“How’s our patient?”, Danica poked her head into the room the next day.

“Dozing”, Bishop replied, softly caressing her cheek.

“I’m awake”, Ylva’s eyes fluttered open. Her head was resting in Bishop’s lap as he was leaning against the head of the bed.

“Good”, Danica smiled at her, “And I see you’re in good care. How are you feeling?”

“Weak”, Ylva grimaced, “What is wrong with me, Dani?”

“Too many potions”, the priestess clicked her tongue, “I’ve told you before that you should go easy on those.”

“That was when I was still learning alchemy”, she argued, “I’ve learned a lot since then.”

“True, you’ve even gotten better than Arcadia”, Danica nodded, “That doesn’t change the fact that your body has its limits. You’re not invincible, Ylva. If you don’t treat your body with respect it might fail you in the future. With how much magic you had in your bloodstream yesterday, you at least need one more day in bed if not two.”

“See, I wasn’t lying to you, sweetness”, the ranger smirked.

“I can’t lay around in bed all day”, she huffed.

“Jumping straight into action will not help either”, Bishop argued, “Please, princess, listen to us and stay here.”

“Ylva, I’ve known you all your life”, Danica crossed her arms, “I helped your mother bring you into this world and I will _not_ watch you throw your life away. Rest, child. Let your body heal. I’ve heard what you’ve done for the city and I’ve seen the battlefield. The mind is just as fragile as the body. Allow yourself time to _heal_. Don’t run off and jump into the next fight, or you might not come back from it.”

Ylva frowned. Since when was she such an open book to everyone? She felt sheltered and patronized. Wasn’t she a grown woman? Couldn’t she make her own decisions? And how could she rest if the doom was still hanging over Skyrim? Alduin was still out there, waiting for her. She had the key, the Elder Scroll. Her weapon against him was in her grasp. How could she rest?

“Ladyship, if you don’t rest, you’ll not be much of an opponent to that black monster”, Bishop must have guessed her thoughts, “You know that, deep down. If you and all of Skyrim, hell, all of Tamriel, should have a chance, you must take a break.”

Sighing, she turned her head: “Fine.”

“Also, who’s going to remodel that house into the orphanage, if not you? Your brothers might be good fighters, but they suck at building anything”, the ranger smirked.

“I think that’s an excellent idea”, Danica cut in, “That might give you enough time to rest, while still doing something worthwhile. But not today, you hear me? Now let’s get you properly checked up if your ranger doesn’t object.”

“I’ll go see up if they’ve got something to eat upstairs”, Bishop gently put her head back on the bed and stood up, “I’ll be back soon.”

Once he had left, Danica wrought a healing spell, making her hand gleam with golden light. As she gently touched her skin, she asked: “So, when’s the wedding?”

“What?”, Ylva blinked perplex.

“Child, you can’t fool me. Everybody knows about you and the ranger”, the priestess winked, “And I must say, you do make a lovely couple.”

“We’re not a couple…at least not officially”, she huffed.

Danica raised an eyebrow: “You know who you two remind me of? Your mother and your father. They were the same around each other. That ranger loves you.”

“I know, he told me”, Ylva looked away, as the priestess moved her fingers down her belly.

“And have you told him?”, Danica asked.

“Yes…no…”, she sighed, “When we were in Windhelm there was that guy that fancied himself a bard. He basically forced us to go to one of his performances. I took the chance to perform a song for Bishop instead.”

“That song, did you say the _words_ in it?”, the priestess pressed on, just as she touched a sensitive spot above her navel.

“Ouch”, Ylva winced, “If you mean _the_ three words, no. But the lyrics were pretty clear.”

“Oh, Ylva dear”, Danica giggled as she finished her checkup, “Men are blind when it comes to signals. You got to _say_ the three little words, or they’ll keep wondering forever.”

Wiping her hands on a fresh cloth, she added: “You’re making good progress, but your body will need some more time to fully recover, understood?”

“Yes”, Ylva grumbled, “On both accounts.”

 

Too afraid of the nightmares, she spent most of the next two days dozing in Bishop's arms or cuddling with Karnwyr. Both the wolf and the ranger stayed close to her, only leaving her side to take care of their bodily needs. During one of those times, there was a knock on the door. Putting away the letters she had just been reading despite the protest of her Shield-Siblings, she looked up.

“Come in!”, she called out.

“Hey furball”, Rikke came in.

“Hey auntie”, Ylva gestured for the Legate to sit down.

“Sorry that I didn’t come sooner”, Rikke sat down on the bed, “There was so much left to do after the battle.”

“Don’t worry, auntie”, she shook her head, “I know how that is.”

“How are you feeling? From what your brothers told me, you were not doing all too well?”, the elder woman placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Better”, Ylva said, not wanting to worry her aunt.

“Cut the bullshit, furball”, the pressure on her shoulder increased, “A battle like that isn’t something you brush off.”

Avoiding her aunt’s gaze, Ylva looked down at her hands. No, it certainly wouldn’t be that way. She felt guilty, the faces of the men she had slain still came to haunt her.

“I can’t get them out of my head, auntie”, she confessed, “They haunt me every time I close my eyes. So many dead faces. It never was like that before. I’ve killed so many bandits and undead, why do the soldiers haunt me so?”

“I can still remember my first battle when I joined the Legion”, Rikke’s eyes had the same hollowness as on the battlefield, “There were a lot of battlemages on both sites of the conflict, fire mages in particular. I couldn’t touch grilled meat for over two months after that. The smell made me throw up. I still don’t like the taste of it, but I often have no choice. Meat and potatoes are the backbones of the field kitchen. With every battle, it got easier to kill and to forget. Maybe even too easy.”

“But why are they bothering me so much, and not the bandits I killed before?”, Ylva asked.

“A soldier isn’t a bandit, furball. The soldiers on the other side fight for much of the same reasons you are fighting. They aren’t evil, they have only made the mistake to place their trust in the wrong people”, Rikke squeezed her arm, “All you can do is to give those that face you a swift end and spare those you can.”

“As for the nightmares and the guilt: There are those soldiers that drink to forget their ghosts. Others throw themselves into battle with the wish to be felled by the enemies. Some can’t take it at all and kill themselves”, her aunt’s gaze trailed off, looking through the walls, “I try to do the fallen justice and pray for their souls to find their way to Sovngarde, for Talos and Shor to watch over them.”

Ylva looked at her aunt, noticing the deep wrinkles around her eyes and forehead and the shadows behind her usually bright and intelligent eyes. How many battles had she fought? How many times had she looked into the abyss that was war? There was no telling, maybe she herself didn’t even know. Maybe that had been the reason why her father had always insisted on her staying out of the Legion, that her place was in Jorrvaskr? Had he wanted to protect her from seeing the true horror of a battlefield?

Thinking of her father made both her heart heavy with grief and her lips curl in a bittersweet smile. Oh, how much she missed him, his hearty laugh and warm eyes, hazel like her own. Looking at her aunt the smile stayed on her lips as she placed her other hand over that of her aunt’s, squeezing it softly: “Thank you for telling me, auntie.”

“I see you got company”, a familiar rumble came from the doorway.

“Ah, your ranger’s come back. I wondered where he was”, her aunt winked at her, her inner pain carefully hidden again.

“Legate”, Bishop nodded his head in greeting, “Should I come back later, princess?”

“No”, Rikke got up, “I was just leaving anyway. Tullius needs me back in Solitude.”

“You’re leaving Whiterun already?”, Ylva didn’t want her aunt to leave so soon. They barely had much time together anymore, not since her father died and she missed the rough but honest nature of her aunt.

“I’ve stayed longer than I should have already”, the Legate sighed, “Tullius is a great General, but he lacks understanding for our traditions. It’s best not to leave him alone for too long.”

“You’re the General’s watchdog then?”, the ranger chuckled.

“Bish!”, Ylva warned, glaring at him.

Rikke burst into laughter, startling both the ranger and her.

“I guess so”, she wheezed, “Make sure Tullius never hears that, or he might just come for your head.”

“Hah, he can try”, the ranger smirked, “But I guess he wouldn’t want to get on the Dragonborn’s bad side.”

Shaking her head, Ylva turned to the Legate: “Safe travels, auntie. I hope to see you again soon and in good health.”

“Same goes for you, furball”, her aunt smiled, “But knowing you, you’ll be back to save the world as soon as you’re able to get out of bed.”

“I’ll make sure that she doesn’t”, Bishop crossed his arms and Karnwyr huffed in agreement.

“I see you’ve got a watchdog of your own”, Rikke giggled, “May the gods watch over you all.”

“May Talos guard you”, Ylva added.

 

“Talos again? Do any in the Legion actually abide this bloody Gold Concordat?”, the ranger asked when the Legate was out of earshot.

“Who can really tell in who or what one puts their faith?”, Ylva shrugged, “There are those that only believe in the Eight, but there are also those for who there’s still the Nine. I won’t let anyone tell me in who or what I should or shouldn’t believe.”

“Stubborn as always”, Bishop grinned, “I see you’re getting back to health.”

“Does that mean you’ll allow me out of the room?”, she looked up at him hopefully.

“Nope, princess”, the ranger shook his head, “I’m not letting you out of bed until Danica says so.”

“Are you my keeper then?”, she raised an eyebrow.

“And if I am?”, Bishop leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a mischievous grin curling his lips.

“Since when can a wolf stop a dragon?”, she smirked.

“Simple”, the ranger explained, “A kiss does the trick. That and making sure you can’t _walk_ anywhere.”

“You wouldn’t”, she bit her lip. It was in the middle of the day, meaning that most of the living quarters in Jorrvaskr would be deserted, but there was a chance that someone would come down at any moment. And with Aela’s werewolf senses, Ylva was sure that whatever he was planning to do, it would not go unnoticed.

“What, sweetness?”, he pulled the door closed behind him, carefully locking it, and came over to the bed, slowly, like a predator circling his prey, “What wouldn’t I do?”

“Erm…”, she blushed, moving back as he got on to the bed. Could she really bring herself to it? Especially here, in Kodlak’s room?

“What’s that? Sabercat got your tongue?”, he came even closer, she could almost feel the warmth of his breath on her skin. Goosebumps rippled over her and her heart began to race. He was pushing her and he knew it. His amber eyes gleamed wild and his grin exposed his canines, giving him that wild, feral air she found so intoxicating. She didn’t dare move away, her gaze fixed on his, returning it with no less intensity. He moved slowly, not letting her out of his sight. Yet, when their lips met, she felt a jolt as if she had been hit by lightning during a thunderstorm.

While her mind went blank her body reacted quickly. Her hands reached up, her palms making contact with the warm skin of his neck while her fingertips brushed through his brown hair. She could feel him smile into the kiss, shifting his weight to free a hand. His thumb caressed the pulsing vein on her neck, making her breath hitch in anticipation. Opening her lips in invitation she eagerly surrendered to him. She wanted, no, she needed to feel her heart racing, needed him to ensure her that she was still a woman, a woman of flesh and bone, and not some monster shaped by the terrors of war.

His hand traced the vein down to the base of her neck, resting for a moment in the small gap between her collarbones. The warmth of his fingers was burning on her skin like hot wax dripping from candles. A soft moan escaped her lips that he hungrily drank. The bed creaked as he shifted in the bed, pulling her onto his lab. Through the thin fabric of her linen breeches, she felt the hard bulge straining against the leather of his pants. He was ready to take her and quite shockingly she realized she was more than ready too. The fabric covering her heat grew damp with her wet desire. His lips left hers and followed down the path his thumb had previously taken, leaving little marks on her skin. Gasping, she arched her back, raking her nails down his neck and further down under his shirt.

Hissing, he pulled back. Heavy-lidded amber eyes found hers with an unspoken question in them. Should he go on or should he stop? Speech was lost in the haze of her lust so she nodded instead. A grin curled the perfect lips. Wasting no time, he pulled the shirt over her head, freeing her boobs from their fabric confinement. The grin widened as he cupped one, gently squeezing the little bud. Biting into her lower lip, she stifled a moan.

“Oh no, sweetness”, his voice was low and husky, “Don’t bite your tongue. I want you to sing for me!”

“But…”, she objected, all too aware of the closeness of her family.

“Afraid they’ll hear you?”, he gently pinched the other nipple, making her gasp, “Oh, I’ll make sure that they will. I want all of Whiterun, no, all of Skyrim to know that you are mine.”

“Please, Bish…”, she whimpered, raking her finger through his brown hair.

“Please what, sweetness?”, his voice was suddenly close to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, “Please stop? You don’t really want that; your body is making that perfectly clear.”

To prove his point, a hand slipped under her breeches, brushing against her wetness. Pressing her eyes shut she stifled another moan. Her hips reacted instinctively, softly moving and rubbing against his hand and the hard bulge. Her core was painfully throbbing, begging for him.

“Now, now”, he chuckled softly, “No need for rushing. We’ve got all day.”

His fingers circled over the sensitive bundle of nerves before he drove two of them into her moist depths. Mewling she helplessly fell forward, her face burying itself in the nape of his neck. Yes, there was no denying that she wanted this. That she had wished for his touch as much as for his warmth and scent that filled her lungs, made her blood boil and her knees weak.

“I wonder what sweet noises you’ll make if I…”, he didn’t end the sentence. Instead, he turned around, throwing her down. Gasping in surprise, she opened her eyes. He was kneeling before her, pulling off his linen shirt. His cinnamon skin looked almost golden in the light of the candles. His tongue darted over his lips as his eyes wandered over her half-exposed body, halting at the rim of her breeches.

“Those have to go”, he grinned, pulling them down in a swift motion. His eyes gleamed with lust, as he pulled back to admire her again. Under his intense stare, she felt herself blush. Why? He had seen her like this before, naked and more than willing to give in to the pleasures he was promising her. There was something about his stare, that had her core burning with desire. The way he seized her up, the possessiveness in his gaze, made her wish to surrender completely, show him that he was his and his alone, now and forever.

“You look like you want to make a meal out of me”, she whispered.

“A meal you say?”, again that wolfish grin, “Maybe I will…”

With his warm hand, he lifted one of her legs of the mattress, softly kissing his way down her thigh. Holding her breath in anticipation, she let her head fall back. As he came close to her entrance, he pulled back a little, letting his thumb circle over her most sensitive spot instead. The roughness of his touch mixed with the anticipation of more to come made her mewl and writhe. Wrapping his other arm around her leg and placing it on her belly, he pinned her down. Not stopping with the movement of his thumb, first two then three fingers entered her slippery heat. Her eyes closed shut and she buckled with a moan. There was no way she could keep quiet if he did these things to her, not with the way her body reacted to his skilled touch.

“That’s what I want to hear”, he chuckled his breath inches from her wetness. Not giving her a chance to breathe, he replaced his thumb with his tongue. The warm softness was a completely different sensation than from before, bringing her even more pleasure. Bishop worked thoroughly, sucking on the bundle of nerves, lapping around her folds and drinking the juices of her wet desire. Not giving her time to rest, he made her sing even more, so much that her throat was becoming hoarse and she was helplessly trembling.

As he twisted and turned his fingers in her and pinching the bud of nerves with his teeth, she screamed out in pleasure. Just below his hand on her belly, the knot of desire exploded, making her body tense and shiver as the waves of her orgasm washed over her. As soon as she regained a sense of her body, she realized that she had clasped Bishop’s head between her thighs. Still gasping for air, she relaxed her muscles, allowing him to come free.

“Dragon indeed”, he grinned, “That roar was loud and clear.”

“Shut up!”, she panted, feeling ashamed of her outcry.

“What was that?”, he reached up to squeeze a nipple.

“Fuck”, she moaned, her body still too sensitive from orgasm.

“That’s better”, he slid back up, the weight of him pressing the hardness in his pants against her heat, “And I’m not done with you yet.”

Her mouth was gain dry, feeling his erection so close to her entrance. Desire woke again deep in her, hungrily rushing to the surface, ready to devour. Bishop was resting on his elbow, watching the change in her with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. Damn, how in Oblivion did he do that? How come he had so much power over her, making her submit to him so easily? To wipe that grin from his face she reached up, pulling him down into a deep kiss. She’d show him just how much dragon blood was running through her veins.

Sucking on his lower lip she pulled it, savoring his taste. Her fingernails dug into the skin of his back, deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to seriously harm him. Sharply sucking in air through his teeth, he pressed his eyes shut.

“You little…”, he growled.

Before he could react, she wrapped her legs around his waist and tugged on his hair, making him expose his neck, hissing. Her mouth tasted his skin as she left a trail of open-mouthed kisses from his jaw down to his collarbone. She’d show him, that he was as much hers as she was his. With a low growl, he shook off her hands and bent down, digging his teeth into her shoulder.

“Yesss…”, she hissed, pain mingling with pleasure. Her hands left another row of bloody lines on his back.

“If you want it so badly”, he groaned, fumbling with his pants. Moving to help him, she pushed the pants down, exposing his firm ass, helping the leather down his legs with her own. His member sprang free, the throbbing flesh parting her folds as he was still struggling with his clothing. Feeling him so close and yet not in her made her buck in yearning. No, she couldn’t wait any longer. Distracted as he was, her quick movement caught him off guard. Within a moment, she had him pinned under her, his legs still stuck in the leather of his pants.

“Now you’re mine”, she licked her lips as she settled herself over him. Slowly, she lowered herself down on him, taking in inch after inch of his throbbing manhood. Moaning, she felt her walls wrap themselves around him, welcoming him. Oh yes, that was what she had wanted, the sensation of their flesh becoming one. Bishop thrust his head back, closing his eyes as he groaned. The pulsing of him left no doubt, he had wanted this as badly as she had.

Putting her hands on his chest to steady herself, she moved up until only his tip remained in her. Then she sheathed him again, using her weight to drive him even deeper. Picking up a slow rhythm at first, she soon picked up the pace as lust overcome her. Forgotten were their surroundings, forgotten the closeness of the others. In this very moment, there was only that one flesh, united in lust and love.

Bishop sat up, weaving his arms through her legs, holding her waist as he moved with her. As she crushed down, his member, again and again, drove itself deep within her, hitting her womb wonderfully painful. Her nails dug into the muscles of his chest, that flexed whenever he moved her up. She felt herself tighten around him, knew that she couldn’t take it much longer. The wonderful throbbing moving in and out of her, his low growls when their skins smacked together, the smell of sweaty and musky man, of sex. The pain in her thighs when she brought herself down with force and the pain in her core…she was shivering, feeling close.

“Fuck”, he groaned, bringing her down on him. She felt the pulsing as his hot release filled her. Within the next two fast strokes, while his manhood continued pumping, she was screaming in extasy too.

For a long time, there was only their panting as both of them tried to regain a sense of their bodies. Her forehead was buried at the base of his throat and his scent filled her just as he still did, gone soft.

“Goal accomplished”, she breathed.

“What?”, he panted.

“I don’t think I will be able to walk anytime soon”, she raised her head to gaze into his eyes.

“Ha”, he grinned, “Well, neither will I. Not with all the claw marks on my body. You tore me up good.”

“Sorry”, she smiled sheepishly, “I got carried away.”

“I didn’t say that I don’t like it”, he winked, “You got to expect a few scratches when you’re fighting a dragon.”

“Very funny”, she stuck out her tongue.

“Now, now”, he teased, “That’s not very ladylike.”

“A moment ago, I was a dragon”, she raised an eyebrow playfully.

“You are a bunch of things”, he retorted, “And one of them is pressing on my _bladder_.”

“Alright”, she giggled, rolling to the side, releasing him. Bishop got up from the bed and pulled up the pants from around his ankles. As he bent over to move the leather up on his sweaty skin, Ylva saw the several rows of bloody scratches on his back.

“Umm…”, she bit her lip, “Maybe I should do something about those scratches…”

The ranger placed a hand on his back and pulled it back to look at the blood coating his fingers: “Yeah, might be a good idea.”


	61. Confessions

“Erik, keep your shield arm up, you’re leaving too much of an opening!”, Aela bellowed.

“My arm’s getting tired”, the red-headed Nord retorted.

“Work your arms or make your peace with the gods”, Njada sneered, “Your enemy won’t care if you’re tired.”

“Listen to your Shield-Sister”, Aela agreed.

“But…Why do I need to train with a shield anyway – can’t I fight with two axes, like the Harbinger?”, Erik seemed to be very unhappy with his current situation.

“You could – if you’d been training as soon as you could walk”, she clacked her tongue, “Now get that shield back up or the next hit will draw blood!”

“Fine”, the whelp complied.

A smile curled Ylva’s lips as she observed the exchange. After three days of confinement in the living quarters, she had yearned for the fresh air and blue skies. The late Frostfall air tasted wonderfully fresh and burned in her lungs. Clothed in a thick jacket to ward off the chill, she sat on the stairs watching over the training. Her fingers absentmindedly moved over the strings of her lute, bringing forth soft music, that was nearly drowned out by the hammering of steel against steel and wood. The nagging and cursing of the whelps and the barked instructions of the older Companions reminded her of Skjor’s harsh training back in the day. It had been a calmer time then, the conflict between the rebels and the Empire just brooding up, no dragons around. When the only fear was that life would not hold enough adventure anymore, compared to the golden days of the Merethic Era – the age of heroes.

A lot has happened since then, even though it felt as only a few years had gone by. If she could, she would turn back time to have a slice of that peace in her life again. As a young girl she could never imagine her tiering from a life of adventure, but now…There was this heaviness inside her, something she couldn’t quite place. As if a candle had almost burnt down, where the light is just a flicker away from vanishing altogether. She didn’t want to go on, had enough of war and conflicts, of destiny, of her doom. But she knew she couldn’t. While she was sitting here, enjoying maybe the last sunny days of the year before the icy rain would come, Alduin might raise another dragon, call it back into life, run havoc across the land.

“Hello? Princess?”, Bishop waved a hand in front of her face, “Are you there?”

“Sorry, must have spaced out”, she apologized.

“No shit”, he raised an eyebrow, then sat down next to her, looking out into the courtyard. He didn’t pay any attention to the actual training. Instead, his gaze was fixed on a point far beyond the courtyard. The hands in his lap were distractedly playing with a loose thread from his shirt and his jaw was clenching. Something was clearly bothering him.

“You look like you have something on your mind, Bish”, she bumped into him, encouraging him to speak as she put away her lute.

“Because I do”, he shot her a glance, “Let me ask you something. How do you feel about being the Dragonborn?”

For a moment she just stared at him, not knowing what to say. How did she feel about it? Ever since discovering it, she never once had questioned the gods why she had been born with this power or how she should use it. Something in her had awoken, a power that was hers, and hers alone. Of course, she needed to use it for the greater good, for her people. So, what in Oblivion could she possibly answer his question with?

“I have the ability to really help people now”, she shrugged, not finding a better answer.

“I asked how you feel about it, not what you are”, he shook his head, “You’re always the selfless one, ladyship. Carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He sighed, looking at her for a moment, clenching his fists, then looked away.

“If you would just…look for once, and see how this entire lifestyle of yours is affecting us…”, he stalled there, then added, “You…I mean you. For gods’ sake.”

“Us?”, she asked, remembering what Danica had told her, “What are you trying to say?”

He growled, making Karnwyr, lying at their feet look up in surprise: “You can be really blind sometimes, you know that?”

“Wha..?”, she started.

“I…love you! Damnit”, he turned to look at her again, his eyes searching her face, “Damnit. I’ve never felt for another woman what I feel for you.”

Shaking his head, he sighed.

“You know, at the start I tried fighting it but…I’m done trying. Just know that whatever happens, whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together”, he grabbed a hand and squeezed it, “I won’t let you fall. I can’t lose you and I won’t.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest. This was the moment. Ever since Danica said these things, no even before that, she had wanted to tell him how she felt. Yet, she felt nervous.

“Bishop…I…”, she bit her lip, trying to find the right words.

“So fearless going against dragons, yet you freeze when I tell you I love you?”, he teased, “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You said you trusted me, remember?”

“How can I follow that?”, she groaned in frustration, “Want me to say it in Thu’um?”

“Say it in any way you like…”, he chuckled, “As long as it doesn’t send me over the horizon. I’d rather be close to you right now.”

“Bishop”, she breathed, “Losei dii Smoldiin. Zu’u vaat Dovah wah Hi.”

“What?”, he blinked several times, apparently not having expected her to actually say it in Dragon Tongue. Neither had she. Had the dragon souls within her had anything to do with it? Or was her heart speaking in Dovazul?

“I love you”, she translated, “I have loved you, even when I sent you away after Kodlak’s funeral. You are my heart, my passion. I’m tired of dancing on my own, I want you by my side!”

The light shining from the ambers was brighter than the sun. Whatever doubts he might have had; they surely had been swept aside just now.

“You and your silver tongue”, he grinned, “You’ll have to teach me your talent with words sometimes. When we aren’t busy with…other things. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

His other hand settled itself on the back of her head, leaning his forehead against hers: “Know this and never forget it. Whatever, whoever tries to take you away from me, they’ll all fail. You’re mine to protect, even if you can do it yourself. I love you, and nothing will ever change that.”

“About time!”, Njada groaned.

Both of them pulled back to look around, only to find themselves surrounded by the gathered Companions. When had they stopped with their training?

“You!”, Ylva shot up, her face turning red, “How long have you been watching?”

“Long enough”, Vilkas grinned, “Nice to see you can actually communicate, and not just letting your _bodies_ do the talking.”

“Vilkas!”, she felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Oh sure, _all_ of them had heard what had happened. She had caught the approving glances her brothers had thrown in the ranger’s direction over dinner, and the giggling at the whelp’s end of the table. But none of them had dared to bring it up directly.

“Oh, but I _do_ like to let the bodies do the talking”, Bishop smirked.

“You are all impossible”, she shook her head, “Get your asses back to training! NOW!”

“You heard her, the break is over!”, Aela barked. The cluster of people dissolved as the whelps picked up their arms, resuming their training.

“Come here, sweetness”, Bishop put his arm around her waist, pulling her close, “You owe me a kiss.”

“Do I?”, she raised an eyebrow, still mad and embarrassed.

“I guess I just have to take it then”, he smirked, curling a finger under her chin, tilting her head back ever so slightly. His soft lips stopped the protest she was about to bring up. Then again, who was she kidding? She loved this annoying and impossible man, and he loved her. As their kiss deepened, the world around them drowned out, leaving them in their own plain of Oblivion.

 

A field of little earth mounds, all neatly shaped, ran close to the western wall of the city. The soldiers and what few guards the Jarl could spare had done a good job of burying the dead in a respectful manner. Ylva stood before the graves, the hazel eyes gliding from one mound to the other, her auburn hair being thrown around by the wind. There were many graves, too many. Still, they were only a small number in the greater horror of war.

A gust of wind from the front blew her locks out of her face. That’s when Bishop noticed the wetness on her cheeks as she silently wept for the fallen. Moving closer, he hugged her from behind, kissing the crown of her head. She placed her hands over his, leaning back against him. No matter how often he held her in his arms, he still marveled just how well they fit together. Standing only a few inches shorter than him, her head easily rested on his shoulder when she leaned back. It felt as if their bodies melted together, not only when he had her pinned under him, but even when holding her like this.

“Come, sweetness”, he murmured into her auburn locks, “Let’s go and take a look at how that new house of yours is holding up.”

The steward had sent a courier with the writ to the house with a note that she could get rid of any furniture from the previous owners as she would see fit. The house had stood empty for quite a while, or so Bishop had been told, after the elderly couple that had lived there had passed away childless.

“Did Arianna say anything when the memorial plate will be ready?”, Ylva’s eyes were still fixed on the graves.

“No, but we can ask her when we check out Breezehome”, he suggested, kissing her cheek.

She pressed against him, her back arching as she took comfort in his embrace. One of her hands trailed upwards to touch her amulet and the ring he had given her. He stayed still, breathing in the scent of her hair. It smelled like blue and red mountain flowers, mixed with a faint note of lavender and something wild and mystical. Even after months of being with her, he still couldn’t get enough of it.

“Ok”, she finally answered, her voice a low murmur, “Let’s go take a look at the house.”

Releasing her from his embrace his left hand moved down, taking a hold of her right hand as they both turned their backs to the graveyard. With their fingers entwined, they walked back to the city. The guards and soldiers they passed stared at Ylva in awe, either nodding or saluting her. There even where some whispers of “Dragonborn” here and there. A surge of possessiveness overcame him and his grip on her hand tightened ever so slightly as he squared his shoulders. He wouldn’t dare let her be stolen away from him.

After a quick stop at the forge to ask on the progress for the issued memorial plate, they arrived at Breezehome’s door. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, just a medium-sized home with two stories, much like most houses in Whiterun. Ylva opened the door with the key she had gotten from Aventus and entered, Bishop and Karnwyr following. The wolf sneezed as dust whirling up from the floor hit him in the nose. After years of neglect, a thick layer of dust covered the furniture.

“You might want to bring that elderly cleaning lady in here”, Bishop remarked, looking around.

“Tilma won’t help”, Ylva turned around with her eyes gleaming with determination, “Better roll up your sleeves, cause it’s time for some good old elbow grease!”

“You’re joking – right?”, he looked at her in disbelief.

 

She wasn’t. After hours and hours up to their elbows in dust and dirt, they had managed to clean the ground floor of the house. There was a small hearth set in the middle of the room with a cooking pot positioned over it, a large table shoved into a corner and some shelves filled with all sorts of ruble. You would have thought that someone would have taken all the stuff laying about the house after the owners had died, but no. Instead, everything was still in the same place, covered by a thick layer of dust and whatnot. Spiders had taken to every corner of the room and Karnwyr even had caught a rat.

There was one more room on the floor, straight across from the table, that luckily was still in good shape after it had been wiped clean. There wasn’t much in there, might have been used for storage. Ylva had something else in mind. Seeing how the room was just wide enough to allow for a bed on either side, she quickly made a note in a journal. On her way up the stairs to inspect the upper floor, one step creaked dangerously, almost breaking under her step. They would need to get it replaced.

 

Later, sitting at the long banquet hall in Jorrvaskr, she was still scribbling in her journal.

“Sweetness, what are you writing?”, Bishop peeked over her shoulder, a mug of mead in his hand.

“Oh, just a few ideas for the orphanage”, she commented, looking up to meet his gaze. Her hazel eyes were starting to sparkle again. Yes, she had needed this, a chance to give back, to help, it was easy to see. Smiling, he tried to get a better look at the journal.

“So, what are your plans?”, he asked, seeing some sketches, “Might as well tell me for what I’ll be breaking my back for.”

“I’ll try not to break you badly”, she winked, “From the looks of it, the house is still in good shape. There are a few leaks in the roof that need fixing and one or two of the steps in the stairs need replacing, but other than that it should hold up nicely. As for rooms: Upstairs is a small and a large bedroom, each with a bed and a wardrobe in it. The large bedroom probably was the couple’s room. I think the smaller room might be a good fit for a warden, someone to look after the children and cook for them. In the larger room, I want to remove the big bed, instead, getting four child-sized beds up there. In the small room downstairs, I want to put in bunk beds – that way up to 8 children can live there, together with someone looking after them. Maybe, if the Jarl will allow it, we can expand the house on the back. There’s still some space there.”

“Wait, you don’t mean to tell me you want to tear down the wall in the back?”, Bishop could feel his back and arms aching just by thinking about it.

“Not straight away”, she pushed a stubborn lock back behind her ear, “That might be something for later.”

“Why not just remodel the lodge instead?”, he suggested, “I mean, it _is_ bigger and you can certainly fit more people in there.”

“True, but they’d need more protection”, Ylva replied, “They’ll grow up safer within the city walls. There are other children to play within the city and maybe they’ll want to join in on the training at Jorrvaskr. Who knows? Some might even want to become a Companion later on. Or learn from Arcadia to become an alchemist? Or pick up smithing with Eorlund and Adrianna?”

“Ladyship, you’re already planning out a future for them before any orphans even arrive”, he pointed out, an amused smile spreading over his face, “Not that I dislike it. But how about we just take it one step at a time? First, we gotta set up the place so anyone could sleep in there.”

“I just wish for children to have a happy life”, she grew silent, her gaze wandering into the distance, “I don’t want them to grow up in a world full of hatred, pain, and war. Is that wrong?”

Leaning over he placed a kiss on the crown of her head.

“No, sweetness”, he answered, “It’s not. You are too good for this world, you know that?”

“You charmer”, a hand reached up to caress his cheek, “But I wouldn’t love you if you were different.”

“Silver-tongued devil”, he grinned stealing a quick kiss, “I love you too.”

 

Breathing in the fresh air, Ylva straightened her back, her basket filled with the last of this year's juniper berries. After several days of cleaning and repairing Breezehome, the calmness surrounding the Lodge was a welcomed change.  If she closed her eyes, she could even pretend that the siege never happened, that it had been a bad dream altogether. She knew it wasn’t, the evidence left behind too vivid to ignore. Several houses had been damaged during the battle and Whiterun was busy rebuilding.

The one it had hit the worst was Heimskr – his little home next to the stairs leading up to Jorrvaskr had been hit by one of the catapults. The irony that the Stormcloaks hade made the Talos priest homeless and no one else was bitter. That wouldn’t stop the fierce priest though. For the moment he had taken refuge within the temple of Kynareth, keeping his preaching hidden from the soldiers still walking the streets of the city. Once life returned to normal, he would resume his preaching. Ylva had made sure to stress to her aunt and Legate Cipius that Heimskr and his preaching were a vital part of the city and not to be changed. While not openly, Whiterun was a stronghold of Talos worship and she meant to keep it that way.

 Going back into the house with the basket full of berries, she went to the kitchen. After such a long time eating food cooked at inns or from Tilma, she missed cooking and baking. There was something so joyous to preparing food, mixing the ingredients, kneading the dough, waiting for it to finish backing in the oven while the wonderful smell filled the house. It filled her with the same sense of purpose that she felt while working the forge or mixing potions and droughts. She was happiest when she created something, even more so when she shared it with others.

Working the dough with her hands she thought about Breezehome and a smile spread over her face. It had been hard work and her nose still tingled from time to time due to all the dust in the air, but it had been worth it. They had cleaned the house from top to bottom, the leaks in the roof had been fixed and the broken stairs had been replaced. Talking with Aventus she had arranged for the old furniture to be brought out and put to good use. The double bed would be given to Heimskr, once his hut had been fixed to the point, he could use it again. The beds for the children also had been commissioned at Gerdur’s mill in Riverwood. Gerdur had promised to work on those as soon as she would be done with the order of wood needed to rebuild the houses in Whiterun. In a few months’ time maybe, they would be all set.

“What are you smiling about, princess?”, the sudden closeness of the ranger startled her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her neck.

“Oh, just thinking about the orphanage”, she answered, continuing to knead the dough.

“Your selflessness is both frustrating and admirable”, he chuckled, his warm breath making the hairs on her back stand up, “You really are too good for this world, you know?”

“I’m doing my duty”, she smiled, “Nothing less, nothing more.”

“Yeah…as if”, he rumbled close to her ear. He went silent, watching her as she formed the dough into shape. Letting her experienced fingers do their work, two circles with a strong rim formed, ready to be filled with the berries.

“In all my years, I never really understood why some people were just happy with being farmers or living in a town behind walls”, he started after a while, “But spending time with you here, I get it now. It’s the same calmness, the same peace that I feel when I’m out in the wild, tracking an animal. Only it’s ten times better because _you_ are here with me.”

“The ranger has a soft spot I see”, she smiled.

“Oh, don’t tease me now”, he chuckled, turning her around.

“But you love it when I tease you”, she smirked.

“Temptress”, he whispered before catching her lips with his.

“Mhm”, she hummed as they parted, “I could get used to this.”

“How about it? You and me in the Lodge. You tending to your garden, checking up on the training in Jorrvaskr. Me hunting in the plains”, he smirked, “Sounds pretty perfect to me.”

“It does”, she sighed, “Too bad that probably won’t happen any time soon.”

“Why? Nothing is stopping us,” he brushed a few stray auburn hairs back.

“But there is. We could never be really safe”, sadness found its way into her voice, “Alduin won’t rest till I’m gone and all men are back under his rule. I have to stop him.”

Bishop’s amber eyes were fixed on her face as he sighed deeply.

“I had hoped we could enjoy this a little while longer, you know?”, he frowned, “But I guess I can’t hold you back forever, even if it is for your own good.”

“I know”, she cupped his face in her hands, smearing flour where she touched him, “And I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t have to. I love you.”

“And I love you, my stubborn princess”, he smirked.


	62. Time Wound

Cursing under his breath and his coat wrapped tightly around him Bishop plodded through the snow. Anyone living in Skyrim for some time knew better than to challenge the weather during Sun’s Dusk, _especially_ in the mountains. Nevertheless, they had fought their way up the 7000 steps to High Hrothgar. Pushing his freezing and numb hands under his armpits he kept on walking. The thought of the warm fire in the big hall and the thoughts of sharing a bedroll with Ylva later that evening helped to fend off the cold.

“How much longer, what do you think?”, he yelled, pushing his words through the lashing wind.

“We’re almost at the final turn”, her muffled voice was blown back to him, “If the wind won’t get worse, I’d say another hour.”

“A bloody hour”, he cursed, stomping on. Despite the fur lining his boots he barely felt his toes anymore. A burning sensation crept up his thighs that he knew could well be frostbite. If it would reach any higher up, his balls would be seriously freezing once they got there.

“I hope this trip is worth having my balls freeze off”, he bellowed.

“Quit your nagging, Bish!”, she bit back, “I’m freezing too.”

They had left the horses down in Ivarstead, the wintery stairs being too slippery for them to climb. Bishop now wished he had stayed with them, warming his feet at the hearth in the Vilemyr Inn. Instead, they had already had to set up camp once in the icy wind as the storm had become too dangerous to continue their climb yesterday. Then again, if he’d have her go up alone, there was no knowing in what dangers she would have gotten herself into. He couldn’t let her go alone, couldn’t lose her, no matter what.

Cursing the gods and the wind, he pushed forward, joining Ylva and Karnwyr. The wolf seemed as unhappy as his human brother to be up in the mountains. Big clumps of ice had formed in the thick fur, making walking difficult for him. Hopefully, they’d reach the monastery soon before all them turned into draugrs ore ice wraiths.

Then there was that bloody business that made them fight the elements in the first place. The Elder Scroll strapped to Ylva’s back, the promise of a weapon against the World Eater, the stupid prophecy over her head. How many times had he laid awake at night, staring at the ceiling in both Jorrvaskr and the Lodge, hoping that this was all just a sick joke? A Deadra’s play on them? But the closer they got to High Hrothgar, the closer they came to the Throat of the World, he knew it wasn’t.

Ylva was right. No matter how much he yearned for that quiet life he had gotten a taste from whenever they had a short time of peace, it wouldn’t last with the doom on her shoulders, with dragons and whatnot on their tail. If he wanted to have a shot at that, have a shot of a happy ending, he needed to follow her, make sure they all survived this madness.

 

Pushing open the heavy doors after an eternity spent in the cold felt like stepping from the icy shores of the Sea of Ghosts into the warm sands of Elsweyr. His numb fingers burned with the sudden change of temperature. For the moment, everything but the warmth of the nearby fire was of less importance as they both tried to rub back some feeling into their arms and legs.

“ _Dovahkiin.”_

Jolting at the sudden appearance of the hooded figure, Bishop’s hand had instinctively reached for his hunting knife. Slender fingers touched him, stopping him mid-movement.

“Good evening, Master Wulfgar”, Ylva greeted the Greybeard.

“Tinvaak voth Paarthurnax?”, the monk asked.

“Yes and no, Master Wulfgar”, she answered, “First, we need to warm up and need some rest before making the climb up to Paarthurnax.”

“Mindoraan”, the old man nodded, “Bo.”

“I still can’t get used to these old farts”, Bishop rumbled as they followed behind.

“Remember that they can kill you with whispering one word if they want to”, Ylva warned, “We’ll only be passing through anyway. So now let’s get ourselves warmed up.”

“I’ve got a few ideas for that”, Bishop winked suggestively.

“You and your dirty mind”, she nudged him with her elbow.

“Ah, but you _like it_ ”, he grinned, “The thoughts of what I want to do to you later have kept me warm all over out there.”

“Maybe you’ll need to step out to _cool off”,_ she replied.

“Come on, don’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind too”, he cuffed her back, enjoying as a red blush crept onto her cheeks.

Suddenly the Greybeard stopped to turn towards a door.

“Praan”, he said, pointing at the door, and with a final glare to the ranger he added, “ _Nahlot.”_

Ylva snorted, turning even redder than before.

“What?”, Bishop blinked perplex, “What did he say?”

“He said we should rest”, she explained, still giggling, “silently.”

 

Kyne seemed more peaceful the next day as they made their way up the final climb to the Throat of the World. With each step, the weight of the Elder Scroll seemed to become heavier. Doubt had sneaked its way into her mind during the last days. Did she have the right scroll? Would it bring her back through time if she read it? Or had the whole adventure through Blackreach been for naught? No, it had to work. There was no other way. Unless…they had all been doomed from the beginning, her path meant to end in death, ending her line with the rest of the world.

Gnawing her lips, she finally reached the last bent. A gust of wind and snow blew in her face, the cold biting into her skin. The pain helped her focus. Whatever the gods had seen fit, if she would find her weapon or if she would find her doom, it was too late to think about it anyway.

Looking ahead, she made out the silhouette of the pale dragon sitting on a large rock. The ancient and wise eyes were fixed on her and the scroll on her back.

“You have it. The Kel – the Elder Scroll”, Parthurnaax said, “Tiid kreh qalos. Time shudders at its touch.”

As if to demonstrate it, a tremor ran through the big dragon’s body. With a deep rumbling in his chest, he looked at her again: “There is no question. You are doom-driven. Kogaan Akatosh. The very bones of the earth are at your disposal.”

Nodding towards the glimmering air close to the Word Wall he had taught her the final Rotmulaag for the Fire Breath, he continued: “Go then. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound.”

The wise eyes turned back to her as a tone of warning and urgency crept into his voice: “Do not delay. Alduin will be coming. He cannot miss the signs.”

Alduin. All warmth was suddenly gone from her body as her heart stopped for a few beats. When it started again, it was a wild pounding in her chest. Had the gods no mercy for her? With fear clenching her guts she looked to Bishop, seeing his own face derived of color as the same terror looked back at her. He was as scared as she was. Damn – if she’d known she’d have left him in High Hrothgar! Maybe there was still time for him to get there without meeting the black monster?

As she opened her mouth to suggest it, he immediately shook his head. No. He wouldn’t go. They were bound and doomed together. With her body shaking from more than just cold, she turned to see the glimmering air. Was she ready for it? No, she wasn’t, far from it. Just having survived the siege on Whiterun, with the wounds in her soul barely mended from that, she now would have to face the World Eater himself? Vomit rose in her throat but she kept it down, not wanting to terrify the ranger even more.

“I’m here, sweetness”, Bishop grabbed her hand, “We can do this.”

She saw and heard the doubt in his voice, the fear, the terror. They were both frightened to death of what would happen next. If the monster was already approaching as Paarthurnax suggested, she had to act quickly. No, she had to act _now._

With shaking hands, she removed the scroll from her shoulder, walking on wobbly legs to the spot the Master of the Greybeards had called the Time-Wound. For a moment she hesitated, feeling the weight of her destiny crushing her. What if it was the wrong scroll, what if it didn’t work? Holding her breath, she pulled the scroll open.

There was a pattern on it, a circle with lines cutting through it and symbols scribbled around it. Squinting, she hoped to see something. Then the lines began to _glow,_ only a little at first but it got stronger and stronger, nearly blinding her. And then it did blind her – her world was filled with a great light followed by darkness.

 

Something was pulling her, pulling her forward. Stumbling around in the darkness she tried opening her eyes. Flecks of red and blue light flashed in her vision. Her head felt like it was about to burst and her lungs screamed for air. Helpless, she fell to her knees. Where on Nirn was she? Had she been blinded by the Elder Scroll? It could happen – the moth priests warned untrained people to touch the scrolls for that very reason. Had she been tricked? Had Paarthurnax wanted to weaken her before facing Alduin? No, if he’d been helping his brethren, why would he have helped the Tongues in the first place?

Slowly, her vision cleared. She was still in the same spot, still on the Throat of the World. Smoke filled the air; strange and unfamiliar smells reached her nose. Was that really the Throat of the World or had she been pulled into a plain of Oblivion? Was a Deadra playing tricks on her mind now? A familiar roar up close made her jump to her feet. A dragon! She fumbled for her axes only to see her hands pass through them. Was she a specter? A ghost?

Someone stormed towards her. No, not towards her but through her! A red-headed Nord with his greatax lifted as he charged forward.

“Gormlaith!”, the man yelled, his voice sounding strangely hollow, as if he was far away but yet right next to her, “Gormlaith! We’re running out of time! The battle…”

He was cut short as a green dragon suddenly landed before them. Ylva again tried to reach her axes, but her see-through fingers couldn’t grasp, couldn’t even feel. She felt strangely detached from the world.

“Daar sul thur se Alduin vokrii. Today Alduin’s lordship will be restored”, the dragon sneered, “But I honor your courage. Krif voth ahkrin. Die now, in vain.”

“FOR SKYRIM!”, the Nord bellowed, hacking his greatax at the dragon’s head. From the dragon’s bloodied maul fire spilled forth as it called out: “YOL TOR SHUL!”

Barely dodging the Fire Breath, the man stumbled to the side, again moving through Ylva. A second Nord came to join him in the fight. It was a woman with striking similarities to man, possibly a relative, maybe even his sister? Ylva barely had any time to look at the new arrival before she stormed off to engage in close combat with the dragon.

“Hyah!”, with a mighty jump, the woman landed on the dragon’s back, a wide grin on her face, “Know that Gormlaith sent you down to death!”

The beast shook violently in an attempt to get rid of the human on its back. The warrior kept her hold on the back, somehow bringing up the blade she wielded with both hands. With all her might and a cry to match, she rammed the sword into the dragon’s skull. As the dragon sank down lifeless, the woman jumped off, the same proud and wide grin on her lips.

“Hakon!”, she cheered, “A glorious day, is it not?”

“Have you no thought beyond the blooding of your blade?”, the man responded, angrily shaking his head at his presumed sister.

“What else is there?”, the woman chuckled, wiping off the blood from her blade.

Rolling his eyes, the man, Hakon seemed to be his name, went to look down on Skyrim. The roars of many dragons could be heard in the distance and the stench of smoke got stronger.

“The battle below goes ill”, Hakon observed, a hint of fear in his voice, “If Alduin does not rise to our challenge, I fear all may be lost.”

Battle? Challenge Alduin? Could it be that the scroll had actually sent her back to the Dragon Wars? To the final battle between the Tongues and Alduin? Where he had been defeated and sent into the future? Ylva’s heart was pounding so wildly in her chest now that she felt it was jumping out of it.

“You worry too much, brother”, Gormlaith joined him, clapping him lightly on the shoulder, “Victory will be ours.”

Where did this woman draw her confidence from? How could she laugh excitedly at the prospect of facing Alduin himself? Was she not also human? Shame suddenly swept over Ylva thinking back to her own panic in the face of her destiny. What would have happened if their places had been exchanged if Gormlaith had been Dragonborn? Would she have panicked? Would she have cursed her destiny, the path she had been set upon?

“Why does Alduin hang back?”, Hakon turned, speaking to someone Ylva hadn’t yet noticed, “We’ve staked everything on this plan of yours, old man.”

The old man in question was dressed in the robes Ylva knew as the traditional clothing of the Greybeards. Was this man one of their forebears? He must be, Jurgen Windcaller came to the world long after the Dragon War. And this man didn’t have the looks of a monk – he bore a greatsword strapped to his back.

“He will come”, he stated confidently, “He cannot ignore our defiance. And why should he fear us, even now?”

“We’ve bloodied him well”, Gormlaith smiled proudly, “Four of his kin have fallen to my blade alone this day.”

“But none have yet stood against Alduin himself”, the old man warned, “Galthor, Sorri, Birkir...”

Sorrow and grief passed over the wrinkled face.

“They did not have _Dragonrend_ ”, the woman leaned forward, “Once we bring him down, I promise, I will have his head.”

 _Dragonrend –_ the Shout that brought down Alduin. Her weapon. Their chance of survival, if there ever was one, to begin with. Ylva now clung to every word exchanged, every hint she might get.

“You do not understand”, the old man shook his head, “Alduin cannot be slain like a lesser dragon. He is beyond our strength!”

He reached behind him, pulling something from his back: “Which is why I brought the Elder Scroll.”

“Felldir!”, Hakon glared at the old man, “We agreed not to use it!”

“I never agreed!”, Felldir retorted, “And if you are right, I will not need it.”

“No”, Hakon shook his head, “We will deal with Alduin ourselves, here and now.”

“We shall see soon enough”, Gormlaith’s eyes were fixed on the sky, “Alduin approaches!”

“So be it”, Hakon gritted his teeth as he readied his greatax.

Ylva looked up to see the black shadow cross over the group. Alduin crashed down on the World Wall, his impact sending tremors through the ground. This close, the monster looked even more intimidating than she remembered. Unlike other dragons she had fought, Alduin’s scales were sharp and pointy, gleaming pitch black like Ebony Ingots. His eyes were blood red, his intense glare sending shivers down her spine. This was the monster she had to slay? How could she go against something so terrible?

“Meyye! Tahrodiis aane!”, the words thundered through the air, “Him hinde pah liiv! Zu’u hin daan!”

 _Fools! Treacherous slaves! Your hopes are all withered. I am your doom._ The words echoed in her mind. Ylva held her breath as the black beast raised his head to the sky, releasing a blood-curdling cry.

The trio didn’t even flinch as stones and fire began raining from the sky. Gormlaith straightened up, her blade pointing towards the dragon.

“Let those that watch from Sovngarde envy us this day!”, she declared, confident.

Alduin snarled as he lifted himself in the air, ready to attack from above. The trio exchanged a quick glance before breathing in deeply together.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Mortal. Finite. Temporary. Ylva screamed as the three Rotmulaag echoed in her head. Her own mortality felt like a blade shoved deep into her heart, felt every part of her body tremble with the limits of its existence. Her blood seemed to boil in her veins as the dragon soul within her cried out in terror. No, dragons weren’t meant to be mortal. They were outside the natural order, beings in tune with time itself, children of Akatosh. But she herself was not – she knew her life would end sometime. At that moment she felt anger arise in her. How cruel was it for Akatosh to force a dragon soul within a mortal? How could he abandon one of his children like that?

A roar pulled her attention back to the scene in front of her. Alduin crashed down, engulfed by blue light. The same terror and pain she had felt a moment ago were mirrored on his face.

“Nivahriin joorre!”, he cursed, “What have you done? What twisted Words have you created!?”

“Tahrodiis Paarthurnax!”, he growled as the realization of his brother’s betrayal hit him, “My teeth to his neck. But first…”

He looked from one of the three warriors facing him to the other: “Dir ko maar! You will die in terror, knowing your final fate…To feed my power when I come for you in Sovngarde!”

“If I die today, it will not be in terror!”, Gormlaith charged forward, swinging her blade with all her force, drawing blood as the sword wedged itself between two scales.

“You feel fear for the first time, worm”, she grunted as she pulled her sword free for the next attack, “I see it in your eyes!”

Alduin roared, blood dripping into the snow. With his attention fixed on the fierce woman in front of him, the World Eater didn’t notice the other Nord approaching from behind until the large ax cut through one of his leathery wings. With a thrust of the wounded wing, Alduin threw Hakon back, making the Nord stumble to the ground.

“FO KRAH DIIN!”, with his Thu’um a wave of ice and frost spewed from Felldir’s mouth. The Frost Breath didn’t seem to have any impact on the black scaled beast though, as Alduin simply snarled and shook the ice from his scales. But it wasn’t meant as a serious attack Ylva realized. Gormlaith resumed her attack on the dragon’s head.

Ramming her sword between the sharp teeth, she cried: “Skyrim will be free!”

These words were destined to be her last. Ignoring the attack of both Felldir and Hakon, the World Eater lunged for her. Sharp teeth cut through armor, flesh, and bone. With a sickening _crunch,_ the warrior’s life was ended. Ylva gasped, as the dragon violently threw the dead warrior against the Word Wall. Blood poured forward from the corpse, tainting the snow red.

“NOOO!”, Hakon cried, hacking his ax at whatever part of Alduin he could reach, “Damn you!”

Ylva felt his pain, felt the anger rise in her again. Despite being nothing more than a spectral spectator, a ghost of a distant future, she felt a connection to these three heroes. The Tongues that had saved them, had protected Skyrim long before she had been born into this world. Without them, men would still cower, would still worship the dragons as gods.

“It’s no use!”, the Nord shook his head, desperation and hopelessness on his face, “Use the Scroll, Felldir! NOW!”

He threw himself against the dragon again, anger, grief, and desperation guiding him. The old man jumped back, quickly reaching for the Scroll.  Opening it up, he closed his eyes, to not blind himself with the ancient knowledge.

“Hold, Alduin on the Wing!”, he began the incantation, “Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard!”

The air shuddered, as Kyne herself seemed to have come down to help them.

“Begone, World Eater!”, Felldir yelled, “By words with older bones than your own, we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last!”

Ylva watched as if in a trace, feeling the tremor of time ripple through her as it did through Alduin. The link they shared was older than she had thought. Right then, the dragon turned to look at the old man. No, he looked through him, right at her! With a pounding heart, she felt his blood red eyes bore into her own, felt that he had seen her then, a spectral from the future. At this moment, they have been linked – at this moment her doom sealed.

“Faal Kel…?!”, the monster roared, “Nikriinne!”

 _Cowards –_ his final word vanished with him. Ylva knew all too well where he had been banished to. Into her time, several months ago, just when Ulfric Stormcloak had fallen into the hands of the Empire. Had it been cowardly to banish him, to send him forward in time? No. She shook her head, they did what they had to do. They may not have known of the prophecy, or maybe they did, hoping that Akatosh would only unleash his firstborn into a time where he knew he could be stopped. Whatever the gods’ plans had been, she could neither change them nor fight them.

“You are BANISHED!”, Felldir bellowed, panting heavily under the strain of the magic working through him. Once the spell had been completed, the air settled itself around them. Kyne must have left that moment, satisfied that her part in this story has been fulfilled.

Cries filled the sky as the dragons yelled for their leader. With him gone, their will to fight seemed broken. Ylva felt their fear echo within the dragon souls within her. Had they been there, that day, the dragons she had slain? Probably. No, certainly. She felt the memories of pain left by being abandoned in them. For a moment she didn’t know how to feel herself. Relieved that the ancient heroes had managed to pull this off? Sad with her scaly brethren? The soul that breathed life into them did the same to her after all. Angry, that the ancient heroes had left her to deal with their shortcoming?

“It worked”, the red-headed Nord flopped into the snow, blood oozing from many wounds, “You did it.”

“Yes”, Felldir sighed heavily, “The World Eater is gone. May the spirits have mercy on our souls.”

Ylva realized, that they were all very much aware of what they had done. They had only delayed the doom, but with that, they had given the world a second chance. The Tongues never had a chance of survival, they weren’t Dragonborn. They never could have prevailed. Still, they had gone to fight Alduin. Despite all odds, they had outwitted Alduin, bought the world Millennia of time. Time to heal, time to become stronger. Time for her to be born.

Now, she had to do the same. She was Dragonborn, she was the only hope of survival. Clenching her fist, she breathed heavily, steadying herself. She was more than just a mortal. Not just a Nord, a Companion or whatever title she had prided herself with. She had been born with one task, one task alone:

To bring death to the World Eater or die trying.


	63. Dragonrend

Holding his breath, Bishop watched Ylva unroll the scroll. His hands were shaking with fear of what would happen next. If there was only certainty, certainty that they’d see another day, that their efforts hadn’t been futile. Would it work, as the dragon had said it would? Or would Ylva go mad like that crazy mage in the ice? And then there was this shit about Alduin. Ever since he first lay eyes on that monster, he had been dreading the day Ylva would have to face it. How could anyone prevail against something so terrifying? How could she survive this shit? How could _they_ survive this shit?

Clenching his hands into fists to stop his fingers from shaking, he tried not to show his nervousness and fixed his gaze on Ylva. She had the scroll open now, her fingers trembling as she held onto the paper or whatever the hell that thing was made of. Something tugged at his gut, an uneasiness he couldn’t quite place. There was something wrong, but what? He couldn’t shake the feeling, no matter what he did.

 “Princess?”, worriedly he took a step closer, touching her shoulder. Gently turning her towards him, he gasped. Her face had turned as pale as the bone of her armor. Her eyes, her beautiful hazel eyes, they had become foggy and blank, staring through him. Next thing he knew she went slack, the scroll slipping from her hands. Reacting instinctively, he caught her mid-fall and eased her down to the snowy ground. His heart stopped for a moment, only to start wildly pounding a moment later. What in the hells of Oblivion was going on? What was happening to his Ylva?

“Ylva!”, Bishop brushed her auburn locks to the side with shaking fingers, “Sweetness, come on, say something!”

“Drem”, the deep rumble of the dragon made him look up, “Ek sil los wundun fin Vennesetiid. She sees the past.”

“Oh yeah?”, the ranger snapped, glaring at the dragon. Were it not for that overgrown lizard’s idea, this would have never happened in the first place. The limb body in his arms, panic clenched his gut and hot tears began to burn in his eyes. For all he knew, Ylva, his light, had gone from this world, either stuck in eternal slumber or dying.

“Zu’u haalvut ek sil vod”, the dragon answered, “I can…smell that her soul is detached from her body. Faas ni. Rek sil dovah. She has a dragon’s soul. Father Akatosh will lead her back.”

Could that be true? A small light of hope candled in his heart. Maybe the dragon _was_ speaking the truth. Ylva was not an ordinary woman. He had seen her breathe fire, had seen her absorb a dragon’s soul. Had seen her walk through fire, ice and death and emerge – sometimes wounded, but always victorious. Maybe…maybe there was hope she could do this too.

“I hope so”, Bishop looked back down at the pale woman in his arms and added growling, “Or I’ll kill you with my very own hands.”

“Your blood burns hot with Smoliin, with passion”, Paarthurnax replied, his rumble almost sounding amused, “You are a good Vahlok, a protector.”

“Please be safe, sweetness”, Bishop pulled her in his lap, pulling his cloak tightly around the both of them. Holding a hand over her nose and mouth, he felt the small draft of air as she in- and exhaled. Thank the gods, he hadn’t lost her yet! He clung to this little sign of life, held it close like he did her body, waiting for her to return to him.

 

It was hard to say for how long she was out. Had it been mere moments or half the day? The eerie silence on the Throat of the World made it difficult to tell the time. All he could say was that it had stopped snowing and the sun had come out. Under the Sun’s Dusk glare, he was almost blinded by the bright snow. Shifting Ylva’s weight in his lap he stretched his right leg that had gone numb.

The sudden distant roar made him flinch. His nerves had only barely calmed down after Ylva’s fainting, what was happening now? Looking up he tried to see where the roar had come from. Paarthurnax had heard it too, lifting his big head to taste the wind.

“Rok bo”, he announced, “Alduin approaches. Ready yourself.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up in shock and he felt a wave of nausea made his guts clench, but he managed to keep it down. Shaking, he looked down at the woman in his arms. Ylva didn’t show any signs of coming back anytime soon. Fuck! What in Oblivion should he do? He couldn’t face the World Eater without her! He was no fucking Dragonborn, he was just a ranger, gods damn it! What could one ranger do against that monster? A stubborn lock fell into the still pale face. Wherever, no, _whenever_ her mind was still stuck, he had to at least buy her time. He had promised to stay with her, no matter what happened.

Carefully lifting her to be able to stand up, he got to his feet. With a pounding heart, he reached for his bow and arrows, fastening the quiver to his belt for quick access. The roar was joined by the sound of flapping wings. There was no doubt that a dragon was approaching. Nocking an arrow, he looked around, but the sunlight reflecting on the snow momentarily blinded him again.

 “Alduin”, Paarthurnax rumbled, his deep voice full of resentment. The ranger looked up, seeing a shadow coming towards him. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. Was this his end? Was this the day he’d die? His grip on his bow tightened, his knuckles turning white under the thick gauntlets guarding them.

“Tahrodiis Zeymaah”, the black beast flew over them, circling around the top of the mountain, “Mu grind.”

“Hi fen kos viik!”, the pale dragon cursed, showing his sharp and deadly teeth.

Just as the black dragon made another turn in the air, Ylva stirred.

 

Dark fog was everywhere, clinging to her and holding her back. There were voices close by, drained out and distorted, making them sound familiar and yet not. Was that Bishop? She called out, but no sound came from her mouth. She felt as if she had been caught in a Frostspider’s web, the sticky threads making it impossible to move. A whiff of the ranger’s scent made her focus again. The wonderful smell of musk and autumn leaves was mingled with the strong scent of fear. What was going on? Was he in danger? Wildly thrashing against whatever was holding her back she struggled forward. She had to be there, had to protect him!

She jolted awake, blinking several times as her eyes tried to adjust to the bright light. Where was Bishop? Once the brightness of the snow was no longer blinding, she saw him hovering above her. He had his bow ready to take aim. But what was he taking aim at? Moving to look past him, she froze and her eyes widened in shock.

There, hanging in midair, his black wings flapping loudly, was the World Eater himself. His blood red eyes were fixed on her now, deadly intent on his monstrous face. With her heart pounding like a smith hammering a piece of metal, she scrambled to her feet.

“Bahloki nahkip sillesejoor”, he boomed, “My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin. Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!”

“You wish you bastard!”, she yelled, despite the fear that was clenching her gut. She had Dragonrend, she had her weapon. She was no longer powerless against the black beast. Now fate lay in her hands. The sound of her voice made the ranger turn to her. Relief washed over his face, lifting the marks of terror and worry. How long had she been out? He must have been worried like crazy. Reaching out and touching his arm she nodded and managed an assuring smile. She needed him to know that she had succeeded, that it wasn’t all hopeless.

“Lost funt!”, Paarthurnax cut in, “You are too late, Alduin!”

“Suleyki mulaag, Paarthurnax”, Alduin sneered at his brother, “My power has waxed, while yours has waned. Aav uv dir. Join me, or perish with your mortal friends.”

“Unslaad hokoron!”, the pale dragon boomed, “Never again!”

Alduin roared, making Ylva and the ranger flinch. Exchanging another glance with her beloved, she nodded again. This was it. Now she’d see if today was her doom or the World Eaters.

“Dovahkiin!”, Paarthurnax called as he himself thrust himself off the rock he still had been sitting on, “Use Dragonrend, if you know it!”

The dragon souls within her roared in protest. The Thu’um was terrifying them and she couldn’t blame them for it. She herself felt terror at the idea of feeling it again, this agony, her mortality cutting through her like a blade. Could she bring herself to use it? Could she bear it again? She knew she had to, but still, she hesitated.

“Use Dragonrend!”, the pale dragon rattled her, “It’s the only chance to defeat him!”

He was right, she had no choice. Gathering both her resolve and her breath, she looked up at the sky. Alduin was fast approaching her, his red eyes gleaming at her, daring her to defend herself. He was so sure of himself, so arrogant, so sure he would win against her.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The blue flames shot out of her mouth with a cry of agony as the dragon souls within her screeched. Her own body was trembling, every bone aware that it would one day grow weak and brittle. Clenching the ax handles at her sides in her hands, she forced her body to calm.

Alduin’s roar as the flames engulfed him, was deafening. Flapping his wings as if trying to resist the Thu’um, he only managed to not crash into the ground as he came down. Ylva quickly fastened her helmet onto her head, dashing forward. Bishop stood back, as if in shock. She was glad for it because it also meant that he’d be standing out of the immediate danger. Even a grounded dragon was a deadly dragon, they both had learned that times and times again. And the World-Eater was the deadliest of all.

“Fool”, Alduin spat, eyes glaring angrily at her, “You may have picked up the weapons of my ancient foes, but you are not their equal!”

Ylva gritted her teeth. She may not have the courage the Tongues had, but by Shor, she was a Nord and a warrior. This was her destiny, even if it was her doom. She’d face it with her head held high, no matter how tight fear’s grip on her heart was. If she would die today, she’d not die a coward.

“YOL TOR SHUL!”

Paarthurnax fire licked at the black beast’s scales as he charged from the left. For all the years he had spent meditating and teaching, he still remembered how to fight.

“This is your chance, Dovahkiin!”, he encouraged her, “Strike with all your force!”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Ylva shot forward, the grips on her axes tight. Dodging the deadly fangs, she slashed at his throat, driving her ax deep between two of his sharp scales. The black monster roared in pain, throwing his head to the side. Trying to rip her ax free for a new strike, she was too slow to dodge the attack. The sharp scales scratched against her armor, almost piercing through.

Letting go of her ax, she called on the Void for help. “FEIM!”

With her body going ethereal, she managed to get away from the dragon before he could sink his sharp teeth into her. Alduin made a guttural sound, that made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. Was he _laughing_?

“You are weak, Dovahkiin”, he sneered, “Your life will end in pain!”

Desperation washed over her. She had put all her force into the blow, yet she had barely made a scratch. Yet every attack of the beast could kill her in an instant. Was this really her end? As her body became real again, she felt the missing weight of her ax like a pain of a missing limb. Her ax was still stuck in his flesh, the ebony handle gleaming between the scales. If she could get to it again, she might be able to drive it deeper.

An arrow whistled by her ear, only to be deflected by the thick scales. Looking back, she saw the ranger had joined the fight.

“If you want a piece of her you have to get through me!”, Bishop was white, his hand holding his bow slightly shaking, yet he didn’t let his fear seep into his voice or make him stop. He knocked another arrow, taking aim.

“Puny mortal”, Alduin laughed again, before taking a deep breath.

Ylva’s body moved instinctively. Not again – she would not again let someone she loved be taken from her. Dashing forward, she got a hold of her ax. The momentum ripped the blade free, showering her with hot red blood. Slithering under the dragon, Ylva quickly shouted: “SU!”

With the Elemental Fury, she slashed at the softer scales on the dragon’s belly, making him roar in pain. The blue light trapping the dragon began to fade as the effects of Dragonrend weakened. She had to trap him again before he could take off. Avoiding the powerful claws, Ylva rolled out from under the dragon, quickly scrambling to her feet.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Before Alduin could take flight, the blue light engulfed him again, pulling him down with the weight of mortality. He crashed down as if his weight had doubled. The red eyes fixed on her with bloodlust and hatred in them.

“Zu’u lost hin klov!”, he lunged forward, struggling against the Thu’um.

“Oh no, you bastard!”, she yelled back, “I’ll kill _you_! Hi dir daar sul!”

She felt the flames build in her throat, tasted sulfur on her tongue. With all her will, she wanted him to burn, to die.

“YOL TOR SHUL!”

The heat of her own Thu’um burned on her skin. Despite the cold air, sweat was running down her back. The fire hit the black beasts head. Roaring in pain, he looked up, shielding his eyes from the heat.

A triumphant grin spread over her face. He wasn’t as invincible as he had wanted her to think. Yes, he was strong, but he could be overcome!

“Hi fen ni kos fin Kaal!”, Alduin boomed. _You will not be the victor!_ Raising his head, he unleashed a bloodcurdling roar.

A thundering in the sky made her look up in horror. By the gods, no! Fire and meteors came crashing down towards them. Had Alduin done that? He hadn’t used any Rotmulaag – was this one of the gifts Akatosh had given his firstborn?

“ARGH!”

Flinching as if she herself had been hurt she whirled around. Bishop was down, one leg caught between a meteor and the ground. By the gods, no!

“BISH!”, she cried as she dashed forward to help him.

“Zu’u siiv hin sahlo”, Alduin laughed again, only increasing the terror clenching her gut. _I found your weakness._ Fuck no! She’ll not let him take away the man she loved!

Not slowing down in her sprint, she looked at him. She’d wipe that cruel smile from that monster’s face – one way or another!

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The black monster crashed into the floor again, screeching as the more blood tainted the snow. The wounds she had inflicted to his belly were worsening every time Dragonrend took hold of him.

Finally, she reached the ranger. Droplets of sweat had formed on his forehead as he clenched his stuck leg, trying to pull it out from under the rock. His knee was barely showing from under the rock, everything else was possibly crushed by the stone. He must be in agonizing pain. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What could she do? An idea popped into her mind. Reacting quickly, she wrapped her arms around him. As the Thu’um built in her mouth she willed the Void to pull them both in.

“FEIM!”

With great relief, she observed how not only she but the ranger turned into a specter. Before the Void would let them out of its protecting grasp, she moved back, pulling Bishop with her. With her fingers slowly fading back in, she fumbled around in her pouches to find the strongest healing potion she had. She couldn’t tell how much of the damage the armor had deflected, but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

“I’m fine”, Bishop grunted as she held the glass vial to his mouth, “Don’t waste your time on me!”

“Drink!”, she insisted.

“Fine”, he obeyed, taking a large sip. As the potion took effect he grunted in pain. If she was right, his bones were resetting themselves. Cuts burned when the healed, but bone hurt like crazy. Cursing herself for never learning Restoration, she turned away. Stupid Nord pride! Now she could have at least eased his pain, helped him with resetting the bones the way they needed.

“WATCH OUT!”, despite the pain, Bishop pulled her to the side.

Another meteor came crashing down, grazing her back and shoulder. There was a sickening _plop_ and pain bloomed from her shoulder that made her gasp for air. Shit, it felt like her shoulder had at least been dislocated, if not worse.

Looking down, she saw that Bishop had gone slack. As she saw the trickle of blood from a wound on his forehead the pain was forgotten.

No.

It couldn’t be. He was…wasn’t he? More blood soaked into the snow. By the gods, no.

“NOOOO!”, she yelled, fueled by anger and desperation. Tears welled up in her eyes. Not again! This couldn’t be true!

Despite the roaring pain in her shoulder she got up and turned. Bloodlust filled her every nerve. She’d have that monster’s head.

“I’ll put your head on a trophy plate!”, she growled, “I’ll tear you apart, limb from limb!”

Alduin just laughed: “You’ll never beat me!”

“DIR!”, she spat.

She felt her fire building in her throat. She’d burn that bastard alive, burn him to a crisp for what he’d done to him, to her beloved Bishop.

“YOL TOR SHUL!”

If the fire she had breathed before had been strong, it was a merely the flame of a candle compared to the burning of the deepest hells of Oblivion she unleashed now. She felt her lips burn, felt the heat making her skin boil and blisters spread over her face. But she didn’t care. All she cared for was to kill, no, eradicate Alduin. He should feel her pain thousand times over! The black dragon’s cries of pain were drowned out by the pounding of her own blood in her ears.

She breathed fire again, and again until she felt nothing but emptiness within her. Once her flames died down, she stumbled forward, falling to her knees. Had it been enough? She didn’t dare to look up. Was there a point anyway? If she had failed, at least she’d soon join her beloved in Sovngarde. For that was where he must be, wasn’t it? Her ranger. Gone because he wanted to protect her.

“Meyz mul, Dovahkiin”, at the sound of Alduin’s voice, she shut her eyes. She had failed, but there was nothing more she could do. No more power in her. She had spent everything she had with this last attack.

“You have become strong”, the dragon’s roar cracked. “But U an Al-du-in, Firstborn of Akatosh!”

Was this her end? It surely must be. Was she going to die a coward, not looking her foe in the eye? Forcing her eyes open she looked up. Alduin’s face looked like melted Ebony. One of his red eyes was gone as if the scales around it had melted over it. Had she done that?

“Mulaagi zok lot!”, he sneered, “I cannot be slain here, by you or by anyone else.”

Ylva had feared this. The gods had such a cruel sense of humor. She never had stood a chance to begin with.

“You cannot prevail against me”, Alduin continued, “I will outlast you…mortal.”

Cool air blew into her face as the beast flew away. She had fought with all her strength, and yet she had failed.


	64. Krongrah

For a long time, Ylva just stared into the distance after the World Eater had disappeared into the clouds, heading east into the mountains. As the dragon vanished from view, the emptiness inside her heart grew. She had failed and in that doomed them all. Now there was no more hope for Skyrim, for all of Tamriel. She had given her everything and had lost all she held precious in the process.

She didn’t dare look back, but she knew she couldn’t avoid it any longer. Forcing her aching body to move, she turned. He lay with all fours stretched outwards. His features were peaceful, almost as if he was sleeping. Were it not for the red spots in the white snow, she could have almost believed it to be true.

Not realizing she had moved until she was suddenly sinking to her knees next to him, she doubled over in pain. Her body was broken, nothing more than a map of wounds and hurt. The pain from her dislodged and possibly crunched shoulder and the burning of the blisters and scorched lips paled in comparison to the emptiness in her heart.  She had lost her ranger, lost the one person more precious to her than anything else on Nirn.

Cradling his head on her lap, she traced his strong jaw and his chiseled nose. So beautiful, even in death. For he was dead. The blood oozing from the wound on the back of his head left her no doubt about that. Heavy drops fell onto his face and just then did Ylva realize she was crying. Pulling her helmet off her head, she dabbed at the wetness coating her cheeks. The tears rolling down her face bit into her scorched skin, bringing back the memory of her fire, her power. There was no fire left within her anymore. She had gone out, like a fire in the wild if you poured water over it. Broken and defeated, just like Helgen. She might as well lay down and die. Maybe she’d meet him again in Sovngarde, maybe they could at least share one more kiss before the World Eater would devour them, bringing forth the End?

The flapping of wings and a heavy thud announced that Paarthurnax had taken up his spot on the World Wall. Was he going to scold her now? Or tell her how disappointed he was? No, she didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see her defeat mirrored in the wise eyes.

“Lot krongrah”, the dragon rumbled, “You truly have the Voice of a dovah. Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”

Victory? How could he say something like that? She had failed to kill the World Eater and he had gotten away. Even though she had given her all. Instead, the fight had taken everything from her. How was that a victory?

“It’s not a victory”, she croaked, her burned lips unwilling to move.

“Oh, but it is, Dovahkiin”, the dragon assured her.

“How?”, she looked up, not caring about the tears still streaming down her maimed face, “How is this victory? I’ve failed and you know it. And now…”

She chocked on her words. With trembling fingers, she cupped the ranger’s face, bending down and touching his forehead with her own.

“I’m so sorry, Bishop”, she whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“The hells of Oblivion are you sorry for?”

Ylva jerked back, blinking to make sure her ears and eyes weren’t deceiving her.

“Bish?”, she whispered, “Is that you?”

“Who else is could it be?”, he croaked and then groaned, “Fuck. My head feels like it has been split open.”

The iron grip on her heart was suddenly gone. Joy and relief filled her with light-headedness, making her dizzy. He was alive! Lunging forward she hugged him tightly, rolling around with him in the snow.

“Thank the gods!”, she half blubbered and half giggled, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“You came close”, he said, “But you know me. I don’t die easily.”

Pressing her face into his chest, she clung to him, not wanting to let go ever again. She had failed her destiny, failed to slay Alduin. Maybe the gods took pity on her finally, letting her keep that one last bit of happiness before the world came to an end.

“Whoa, someone is happy to see me”, he patted her back.

“You’re damn right I am!”, she croaked, “I thought you were…you were gone!”

“I’m not, so come on, sweetness”, he cooed, “Let go of me so I can have a look at you.”

Reluctantly she looked up, meeting his gaze. Bishop sucked in his breath through his teeth.

“Sweetness, what the fuck happened to you?”, he gently cupped her maimed face in his hands, his thumb caressing her scorched lips.

When she opened them to answer, he shook his head: “No, don’t say anything. You can tell me later. First, we need to fix you up!”

Turning them around, he sat her in the snow, not letting her move one inch. Frantically looking around, he finally found the backpacks. As he turned his head away from her, she glimpsed the wound at the back of his head. It had begun to heal, maybe thanks to the potion she had given him moments before the meteors had struck him down. He would need treatment too, or else he’d scar badly as well. With the backpacks in hand, he returned to her.

“Bish”, she croaked, wanting to get his attention to his own wounds.

“I told you, no talking!”, he scolded her, as he fished a waterskin out, “This is going to hurt.”

She winced as he poured the water over her face. It burned, but she forced herself to not turn away. The ranger wouldn’t stop until she’d been taken care of, that much she knew already.

“The fuck were you thinking?”, he ranted on, “Getting your face burned like that? How did that even happen? No, don’t tell me just now.”

He turned back to the backpack, digging through its contents to find some of the additional healing potions they had put in there. Fishing out a red bottle, he poured the contents on a clean rag, dabbing it on her skin. As her skin started to heal, the burning sensation got even worse. Gritting her teeth, she let Bishop continue.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”, he asked.

“My shoulder”, she groaned, trying her best to not let her pain show.

“Fuck”, he let his fingers run through his hair, “We gotta get the armor off.”

As his fingers touched her armor, his fingertips left bloody traces.

“No”, she insisted, “The shoulder can wait. You are still bleeding!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”, he glared at her.

“Bishop, look at your hands!”, she grabbed his arms, turning his hands towards him, showing him the blood sticking to it. His lips formed a silent “O” before he sank to his knees.

“Come on, you’ve lost a shitton of blood already!”, she turned him so that he sat and she knelt next to him. Despite the roaring pain in her shoulder, she took the waterskin and poured it over the still open wound at the back of his skull. He slumped forward, the pain possibly bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness again. Working quickly, she fished another bottle out from her pouch, pouring the contents on the now clean wound. As it took effect, the bleeding stopped and the wound closed off.

Holding the half-empty bottle to his face, she insisted: “Drink this, that should take care of your head.”

“Wait”, he turned away from her. Bending forward, he threw up. His body convulsed as he retched up everything he had in his guts. Ylva caressed his back with her good arm. They needed to get down from here as soon as possible, get rest and possibly some food.

Karnwyr came towards them, sniffing his brother’s ear and gently licking it. As the battle had begun the smart animal had hidden under a small ledge, staying out of the worst danger.

“I’m fine, buddy”, Bishop breathed, as he finally finished retching.

“Here, wash out your mouth and then drink that healing potion”, Ylva gave him both the almost empty waterskin and potion as he straightened his back.

“Thanks, sweetness”, he took the waterskin from her hands and took a large gulp, slushing it around in his mouth before spitting it out. Then he took another sip. Once he had washed the taste from his tongue, he took the healing option. He grimaced at the bitter taste, but as it took effect his strained features relaxed.

“And now let’s take a look at that shoulder”, he said.

Paarthurnax waited patiently and silently, tasting the wind and watching over them. After their wounds had been treated and the pain had stopped, Ylva finally faced the pale dragon again.

“I failed to kill Alduin and he got away”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, “What now?”

“Ni liivrah hin moro”, he nodded, “True, this is not the final krongrah – victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle.”

“You defeated him?”, Bishop gaped at her, “How?”

“It doesn’t matter”, she shook her head, unwilling to tell him of her rage and desperation when she had thought that he was gone, “He got away and I didn’t kill him.”

“Her Yol is more powerful than any other dovah”, Paarthurnax explained, “Akatosh’s blessing is with her.”

“That’s why your face looked like you fell face first in a campfire?”, Bishop commented.

Despite the horror they had gone through in the last few hours, Ylva was grateful he hadn’t lost his humor nor his sharp tongue.

“Alduin always was pahlok – arrogant in his power”, Paarthurnax continued, “Uznahgar paar. He took domination as his birthright. This should shake the loyalty of the dov who serve him.”

Ylva swallowed hard. She knew what she had to ask, had to do, even though she didn’t want to, every part of her body wanted her to go away, accept her fate and let the world end.

“I need to find out where Alduin went”, she finally said, feeling the disbelieving stare of the ranger on her back.

“Yes”, the pale dragon nodded, “One of his allies could tell us. Motmahus…But it will not be so easy to…convince one of them to betray him.”

He moved one of his big wings forward, scratching his chin: “Perhaps the hofkahsejun -  the palace in Whiterun…Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive dovah. A fine place to trap one of Alduin’s allies, hmm?”

“You can’t be serious!”, Ylva almost yelled, “The city has just survived a godsdamn siege and you want me to convince the Jarl to trap a dragon there? Are you out of your mind?”

She remembered the old stories, the stories of King Olaf One-Eye. He had captured the dragon Numinex and had built Dragonsreach as his prison. She couldn’t remember how often she had gone up to touch the heavy chains and marveled how large dragons might have been, how terrifying they must have looked, back when there was no hint that they’d come back so soon.

“Your su’um is strong”, Paarthurnax replied, “I do not doubt that you can convince him of the need.”

“You want me to risk the lives of everyone living in the city? Just in hopes to capture a dragon that might or might not tell us where Alduin went? This is insane!”, she raged, “No! I won’t! The people of Whiterun have suffered enough already!”

“Dovahkiin!”, Paarthurnax roared, “Lost hin heyv vodahmin? Will you forsake the people of Tamriel? Will you lead them to their doom? All because you don’t want to risk one city?”

“Shut it, you overgrown lizard!”, Bishop stepped in, “How much more will you ask of her? She’s only human for fuck’s sake!”

Paarthurnax words cut deep into her chest and guilt crept up her back like ice-flowers blooming during a cold winter night. She couldn’t deny the truth. The fate of Tamriel, no, all of Nirn lay in her hands. Could she do that? Could she live a happy life knowing that it would all be doomed the moment she died and stepped into Sovngarde? Wasn’t that living with a lie, just for the sake of saving her friends and family from possible harm for only for a short while? Wasn’t she forsaking them, if she didn’t risk it? Tears started rolling down her cheeks, tears of desperation. The Master of the Greybeards was right, she had no choice. If there was only the smallest chance that she’d make it, that she could face Alduin a second time and emerge victoriously, she had to take it.

“For all the Millenia you’ve been around, is that all you can come up with?”, the ranger continued, “Seems like you dragons aren’t so smart after all.”

“You could build a new trap”, Paarthurnax mused, “But that takes time – time in which Alduin will grow stronger again, he can feed off the souls in Sovngarde.”

In her mind's eye, Ylva saw all those she held dear and that had passed on to Sovngarde being consumed by the black beast. Gramps, her father…no, she couldn’t risk them being lost to her forever. She had to act quickly. More and more souls entered Sovngarde for every day the civil war raged in Skyrim. For fuck sake, she herself had probably sent several dozen souls up there herself! Alduin would find more than enough souls to feed his hunger.

“Fine”, Ylva gritted her teeth, wiping her tears away, “I’ll do it. But how would I even get a dragon to come anyway? Who would heed my call?”

“Hm, yes”, the dragon tilted his head, “I’m pondering the same question. Lingrah morah.”

He was silent for a long time, holding his nose into the wind. Ylva had done the same often enough to know he was tasting the wind. Wondering how sensitive the nose of a real dragon was, she tried to match him, only to realize she couldn’t make out any distinguished smells beyond those lingering here.

“I taste the voices of Alduin’s allies on the wind”, the pale dragon turned to look at them again, “Pogaan nahlaas, vokrii wah jun.”

“And?”, Bishop growled, impatiently thrumming his fingers on his crossed arms.

“There is one who I remember well. Odahviing”, something similar of a smile spread over Paarthurnax’ face, “He is the one to tell us where Alduin has gone.”

“How does knowing his name help me lure him to Dragonsreach?”, Ylva was as impatient as the ranger. With the knowledge of Alduin devouring the souls in Sovngarde, she needed to act as quickly as possible.

“Ah, I forget how little you know of the dov”, the amusement vibrating in the deep voice angered her even more, “Our names are always made up of three Rotmulaag – Words of Power. You see – Paar-thur-nax – a Thu’um, a Shout, yes?”

“So I’ll go to Dragonsreach and call out his name. Then what? Why would he even come when I call him?”, she was still skeptical that a dragon would show up anyway.

“He is not compelled to come, but the dov are prideful by nature. Few could resist such a challenge. Especially from you, Dovahkiin”, if the dragon had human eyelids, he might have winked in that moment, “But Odahviing, he is…headstrong? Boziik. Rash. Even among the dov, he was known for this. He will not resist the challenge of your Voice, Dovahkiin, He will come. Now, hear his name. Odahviing. Taste it on the wind. Od-ah-viing. Know it in your su’um. Od-ah-viing!”

As Paarthurnax spoke the Rotmulaag, a sudden pain erupted in her head. With a silent cry, she sank to her knees, holding her head clutched in her hands. Vast snowy landscapes rushed by her mind’s eye, then predators and hunters followed by all sorts of winged creatures. Od-ah-viing. Snow. Hunter. Wing. The meaning of the dragon’s name resonated within her, waking the sleeping dragon souls. They recognized their brethren, soaring happily at the echo of his name.

“Sweetness, you OK?”, Bishop touched her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, she released the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

Standing up she saw the worry on his features and gave him a half-sided smile.

“Let’s head back to the monastery”, she said, “I think we are done here.”

“Great. Any longer and I’d have to start drinking”, Bishop scoffed.

“Well, after all we’ve been through, I could use a heavy drink myself”, she sighed.

“Akatosh be with you, Dovahkiin”, Paarthurnax said, “That you may delay the worlds doom.”

“If the gods are kind”, Ylva nodded friendly towards the dragon, “If they are, I’ll come to see you again.”

“Trust in your su’um, trust in the strength of your Yol”, the dragon enforced, “Today was your Kongrah.”


	65. Impossible Request

Darkness settled around them. The slight dribble that had accompanied them ever since they set out from Ivarstead had started to turn into a downpour as they neared the ruins of Helgen. Thunder and lightning cracked the sky, making their mounts nervous. Reaching forward the ranger pat his stallion’s neck, calming the horse. It would still take some time before they reached the safety and warmth of the Riverside Lodge and they couldn’t risk the horses going crazy.

“You are unusually quiet, Bish”, Ylva remarked as she slowed her horse to ride next to him.

“Have I now?”, Bishop replied, feeling caught, “Sorry, just a lot on my mind.”

“About the fight?”, she dug deeper, “Or about what we have to do in Whiterun?”

“Yes and no to both, I guess”, he sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle, “It’s fine sweetness, just a lot to process. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“You know I will”, she smiled at him, “You are important to me, Bish. I’ll always worry about you. That’s what you do when you love someone.”

“I love you too, sweetness”, he replied giving her a smile, “I’m fine, I promise.”

She still didn’t believe him, the slight frown between her eyebrows told him as much. With the ruins of Helgen appearing in front of them, she let her mare take the lead again, turning right to the small path leading around the destroyed town.

With her attention fixed on their path again instead of him, he returned to his brooding. The battle at the Throat of the Word had left them both with wounds that no healing potions could mend. They both had just barely escaped death. Hells of Oblivion, if he hadn’t had that potion working within him when the meteor hit, he probably would be dead now.

Far more frightening as to how close he had come to death was how near Ylva had been to dying. Her scorched face had haunted him at night. If he had come to it any later, her beautiful face would have been scared forever. Knowing that it had been her _own_ Fire Breath doing that made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. How powerful must the flame have been that she had burned herself like that? She had used that Shout often enough in the past and he had seen the havoc it had created without causing her any harm at all. The fire she had produced back then must have been tremendous.

But still, Alduin had gotten away. Not even that powerful of a Shout could kill that dragon. What would it take to bring him down? What would it cost? Deep inside his heart, he began to fear that bringing down Alduin would cost Ylva her life, that killing that beast would kill herself. Could he go with her? Could he stand by while she throws her life away? He had tried answering that question ever since they made their way down from the Throat of the World. _Well, first we got to capture a dragon,_ he reminded himself, _and hopefully, by then, she might have come up with something better than Shouting at that beast._

 

Night had already fallen around them when they came across the last river bent and the Lodge came in sight. Allie instinctively turned right, walking over the wooden bridge to her stable. Ylva didn’t stop her mare. After a long day of climbing down the mountain and then spending hours in the saddle, riding through snow and rain, she knew it would be foolish to continue on to Whiterun, especially since she knew the Jarl would be fast asleep by then. She still had no idea how on Nirn she could convince him to let her trap a dragon in his palace, despite having spent their journey back pondering about it.

Weary from travel, she only yearned for a much-needed hot shower and some sleep, if she could find any. Knowing Alduin grew stronger each day made her restless. No, she needed to act as quickly as possible. She owed it to all the souls that had passed on to Sovngarde. For once, she was glad, that her mother had refused the offer of freeing her from her beast. In Hircine’s Hunting Grounds, she would be spared the World-Eaters hunger.

Even with the urge to act quickly, she knew she had reached the limits of her body. Bishop had been sleeping still that morning when she had been woken by the sudden urge to vomit. Danica had warned her not to drink any healing potions too soon, that her body still needed to recover from the overdose from the siege. What other choice did she have? She knew no restoration magic, nor did she wish to learn any. Her family had always relied on alchemy to tend to their wounds instead of magic, since using magic was against the way of the Companions. Learning magic would be to forsake the way of her ancestors and besides, she didn’t have time to learn it properly anyway.

Besides her own body, she needed to keep Bishop’s wellbeing in mind as well. Ylva knew that he had been constantly pushing himself over his limit, watching her back all the time. Maybe she could convince him to take the day off, taking Karnwyr out to hunt in the plains? They both needed rest urgently, needed a break from all this, despite the week they had after the Siege on Whiterun. Her stomach tightened and she felt like throwing up again. It had only been about 10 days since then and the memory was too vivid in her mind.

As if she had been waiting, Lydia came from the lodge as they dismounted. The young woman just glanced at them once, then took the reins of the horses from both of their hands.

“The water is warm, my Thane. Go and rest, I’ll take care of the horses”, Lydia said.

“Thank you, Lydia”, Ylva managed a smile.

Leaving her housecarl with the horses, they each took a long warm shower. With some warmth restored to their weary bodies, they soon retired to bed. Karnwyr didn’t join them as he usually did, instead, he stayed downstairs curled up in front of the fireplace, drying off as he nibbled on a rabbit chop that Lydia had given him.

Ylva curled up next to Bishop, laying her head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. Neither of them spoke a word, both too lost in their own thoughts to actually in the mood for talking. Still, they sought each other’s closeness, taking comfort in the warmth of their embrace. The beating of his heart, his wonderful smell of autumn in the Rift mixed with the musky scent of men and of mead – she took it all in, let it fill her mind. Still, she couldn’t drown out the ever-growing fear of losing him. Not for the first time she wondered how much time they still had with one another. Closing her eyes, she sent a silent prayer to the gods: _Shor, Kyne, Talos! I’ll gladly give my life to your service. But please, spare Bishop’s life! Watch over him, so that my love can live on with him._

 

The chilly morning air filled her lungs as she sat on her balcony, overlooking the White River and the Whiterun Plains. Warming her hands on the cup of steaming green tea, Ylva sighed heavily. The night had been restless, despite her body yearning for sleep. Hearing steps coming closer, she turned her head slightly, to see Bishop move towards her, Karnwyr at his heels.

Pulling a chair on the table opposite from her he flopped down, as the wolf disappeared under the table, only to then rest his big furry head in her lap, looking up at her with a worried look. With a tired smile, she let her fingers run through his thick fur and scratched his ears.

“You look as shitty as I feel”, Bishop remarked, rubbing his face.

“You couldn’t find any sleep either”, it was more a statement than a question. He had been shifting in bed as much as she had. When he met her gaze, she knew she was right. Dark shadows shone blue against his cinnamon skin and his usually sparkling amber eyes looked hollow. There was no denying they both were tired and troubled, but neither of them wanted to say it out loud.

Bishop reached out with a hand, and she did the same, entwining her fingers with his. He let his thumb run over her knuckles, gently caressing her skin. With his touch, the uneasiness in her heart grew lighter. How something so simple as a mere touch could do that was still baffling her. Smiling at him, she let her own hand run over the rough skin of his hand. Just like the night before, they shared a moment of silence, taking comfort in each other’s presence.

“So”, Bishop started after a while, “When are we going to see the Jarl?”

“In an hour or so”, she sighed, “But why don’t you go out for a hunt? I’m sure Karnwyr would be happy to roam the plains with his brother for a change.”

“There’s still time to do that later”, he shrugged it off, “Unless…you don’t want me there with you?”

“Of course, I want you there”, she replied quickly, “I just thought that maybe you’d want a break from all…this drama.”

“Hey sweetness”, he squeezed her hand, “I promised to not leave your side. Plus, it’s not like you are going against a dragon this time. It’s just the Jarl.”

“Well, not immediately”, she sighed heavily and then added whispering, “I really don’t want to do this. But I don’t have a choice.”

“Hey, if you wanna run away, the offer still stands”, he winked at her.

Despite her heavy heart, she giggled. The ranger smiled in turn, pleased that he had managed to lighten her mood if only for a moment.

“Good to see you haven’t lost your sense of humor”, she squeezed his hand in return now, “But you know I can’t do that either. I owe it to Skyrim.”

“Always the selfless one”, he breathed, “Well, it was worth a shot. Then come on, princess. Let’s get some breakfast in our bellies. I can hear your stomach rumbling from over here.”

As if to prove his point, her stomach grumbled loudly, making Karnwyr’s head jerk up and sniffing her belly.

“Yeah, probably a good idea”, she blushed slightly. She had woken to a sudden urge to throw up this morning again, barely making it to her outhouse in time. Damned those side effects. Hopefully, she’d recover from it soon enough. At least Bishop hadn’t noticed her returning urge to vomit so far. He was worried about her all the time anyway; he didn’t need to have one more thing adding to that.

 

The midday sun was hiding behind clouds as they finally climbed the stairs to Dragonsreach a few hours later. Every step was harder to take, knowing what request she had to bring forth to the Jarl. Finally reaching the palace gate, the guards were eager to open it for her. Ylva had always been well respected in Whiterun, but after the siege, the guards went out of their way for her, bowing with respect as she passed, opening gates and ushering other townsfolk to the side if she passed through the streets.

The stories from the battle had already been retold so many times with it becoming more fantastical every time it had been retold. Everybody seemed to want to overtrump the others with what they had seen the Dragonborn do. It reminded her of the stories of Skjor and Kodlak in the Great War before they had joined the Companions. How each of them had fought off 40 Orc berserkers on their own, even though it most likely had been a lot fewer than that. What would the people say about her, when she told them she would need to capture a dragon in their palace?  Would they still admire her the same way?

Climbing up the last set of stairs to the great hall of Dragonsreach, she was disappointed to see that the throne was deserted. Well, wherever the Jarl was, he probably wasn’t too far away. Her ears picked up voices coming from the war room on the upper floor. Fitting in a way. She was expecting a struggle since the Jarl wasn’t easily persuaded. Friendly nodding to the guards and the court wizard Farengar, sitting at a table in the corner deeply in the lecture of a book, she made for the stairs to the right of the throne.

“Dragonborn”, the guard standing next to it moved out of her way, smiling friendly, “The Jarl will be happy to see you.”

“We will see”, she replied.

As she reached the upper floor, she saw that a small council had gathered around the map table, with the steward and the Jarl in a heated argument.

“The renovations on the walls have depleted our coffins, my lord”, Proventus just explained, “If we don’t raise the taxes on the city, we will not be able to pay the guards.”

“I will not put further strain on my people, Proventus!”, the Jarl argued back, “They are struggling as it is.”

“My Jarl”, a guard announced, “The Dragonborn has come to see you.”

 “Oh, Harbinger”, Balgruuf looked up, “I did not expect to see you again so soon!”

“I’ve returned from High Hrothgar late last night”, she explained, “I have urgent matters to discuss if you’d give me your time, my Jarl. Though hearing that the men might go without pay, I’ll also gladly help out.”

“You would?”, the steward inquired, “That would be most…”

“No, we can’t accept that”, the Jarl shook his head, “You’ve already done and paid so much for the city.”

“But my Jarl!”, Proventus objected.

“See it as a sign of good will, my Jarl”, she interrupted the steward, “For the request, I’m about to make is one you’ll likely won’t grant so easily.”

“To the Dragonborn? The hero of Whiterun?”, Balgruuf laughed, “I doubt it. So, what is this request of yours?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d speak to you alone on this matter”, she confessed.

“You know well that Proventus is my ears and Irileth my shield”, Balgruuf insisted, “Any request you might have, they’ll need to know about too.”

“Alright”, she squared her shoulders and she stated: “I need to trap a dragon in your palace.”

“Ha!”, Balgruuf laughed nervously, “I must have misheard you. I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace.”

“My Jarl, I’m afraid I’m not jesting”, Ylva swallowed, her mouth suddenly gone dry, “You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“What you are asking for is insane!”, he slammed his hands down on the table, making the pot of ink on it jump and almost tip over, “Impossible! You want me to let a dragon into the heart of my city? After we fought so hard to preserve it from the Stormcloaks?”

“My Jarl, there’s something greater at work here! I wouldn’t ask if there was another way to defeat the dragons”, she argued, “You’d think I’d risk the lives of my people, my family, and friends so easily? Do you think so little of me?”

“You damn well know I don’t”, Balgruuf gritted his teeth, “But there must be another way. The risk is too great.”

“The threat is worse than you know”, she groaned in frustration, “Have you all forgotten the songs of old? Have I not sung this song for you here in this very hall before? The prophecy came true!”

Balgruuf looked at her questioningly and then to Bishop, who slowly nodded.

“What on Nirn are you talking about?”, Irileth cut in, clearly not understanding the gravity of the situation.

“Alduin has returned”, Ylva held the Jarls gaze unwavering, despite her fingers shaking with both anger and fear.

“Alduin?”, the Jarl grew pale, “The World-Eater himself? But…how can we fight him? Doesn’t his return mean it’s the end times?”

“I fought him, on the Throat of the World”, she didn’t break eye contact, “I tell you, it’s only hopeless if we give up.”

“I didn’t say anything about giving up”, he cleared his throat, gathering his wits about him, “Now, what’s this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?”

“When we fought, Alduin escaped before I could end him. I need to find out his hiding place”, she explained, realizing again how crazy that sounded.

“You thought the World-Eater and he _fled?”,_ Hrongar cut in, his eyes wide with wonder and awe.

“Are you deaf?”, Bishop snarled, “She just said so.”

“Careful with that tone of yours!”, the Jarl’s younger brother growled, “Just because you’re following the Dragonborn around like a lost puppy, doesn’t mean I’ll have to listen to you!”

“Hrongar!”, Balgruuf barked, “Calm yourself brother! That ranger risked his life to defend our city! He’s as much a hero as the Dragonborn!”

Bishop’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected this kind of protection coming from the Jarl himself. A smile tugged at Ylva’s lips. Finally, people started seeing him the way she did, saw that he was, in fact, a hero, even if he would deny it.

“Yes, Alduin got away. The only way to find him is to trap one of his allies using your great ancestor Olaf One-Eye’s trap”, Ylva drew the attention to herself again, “But we don’t have much time. Each day that passes Alduin grows stronger again.”

“Are you sure?”, Balgruuf insisted.

“I’m Dragonborn”, she squared her shoulders, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on her, “It’s my destiny to stop him.”

“Alright”, the Jarl sighed, “The old trap hasn’t been moved in years. It will take several days to get it ready. But how will you even lure one of his allies here?”

“I will challenge them with my Voice”, she locked eyes with him, “They will not be able to resist it.”

“Do you know how crazy that sounds?”, Irileth cut in.

“Irileth”, Ylva turned to the Dunmer, “You have seen me absorb a dragon’s soul yourself, as have your men. I promise I will do my best to contain the dragon. I swear it on my honor.”

“I respect that”, Irileth nodded, “My men will do their best to help.”

“Then it’s decided”, the Jarl announced, “Let us see if the legends about Olaf One-Eye are true then and let’s capture ourselves a dragon.”

 


	66. Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter includes a scene with bondage. If that isn't your thing just skip the rest, otherwise, enjoy.

“…blisterword, blue dartling and oh, all of your lunar moth wings if you have any”, Ylva listed.

“That’s a long list”, Arcadia looked up from taking her notes, “What on Nirn do you need all these ingredients for? Do you want to supply the Imperial Legion?”

“I want to be prepared, Arcadia”, Ylva replied, “When do you think you’ll have everything ready?”

“My supplies are running low, with the restoring of the homes and helping tend the wounded soldiers, I had little time to restock”, the Imperial rubbed her chin, “Probably about two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”, Ylva’s mouth fell open, “I…no, I can’t wait that long.”

“Why the hurry?”, Arcadia eyed her suspiciously, “Don’t tell me Ulfric wants to try it a second time!”

“No”, she quickly shook her head, “That’s not the reason.”

“What is it then?”, the older woman placed a hand on her hip and leaned forward, “Come on, out with it!”

Ylva gnawed on her lip. She really didn’t want the townsfolk to know what would happen in a few days’ time. Even then, she doubted that the guards themselves would be able to keep quiet about it. First, the trap needed to work. The old chains had laid unmoved for centuries, no Millenia. They would need some days to be prepared, more if parts had rusted or broken.

“You’ll hear soon enough”, she decided to keep quiet about it, at least till she knew the trap would work. If not, she didn’t want to cause terror and chaos in the city all for nothing.

“Alright, keep it to yourself”, Arcadia sighed, “I’ll take a look at what I still have laying around. Come by tomorrow and I’ll have it ready.”

“Thank you, Arcadia”, she smiled warmly.

Pulling the door of the alchemist’s shop close behind her, she looked around. A few rays of sunlight had wrestled their way through the overcast sky. The air was chilly and the people were hurrying through the streets, eager to be out of the cold. The damaged houses had been repaired for the most part. Whiterun was slowly getting back into its routine. Even Heimskr was free to resume his preaching in the square of the Wind District. Hearing his familiar fierce voice shouting about Talos brought back a feeling of homeliness. The city was moving on, she could feel it in her bones.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the air. It was crisp and clean after last night’s heavy rain. A perfect day for hunting. Bishop and Karnwyr would have a lot of fun out in the plains today. They had parted ways after the meeting with the Jarl, but only after she had insisted that they’d go. While she yearned to join them, she had other things to take care off. Like making sure they’d have enough powerful potions for when they would face off against Alduin a second time.

Her feet carried her down the road to the gate and soon she found herself on the doorstep to Breezehome. She doubted that Gerdur would have already gotten around to her order, but she wanted to go check on the place anyway. Unlocking the door, she found the place just as they had left it. A thin layer of dust had settled again during their absence. Checking the rooms, she found that most of the furniture she had arranged to be donated had already been moved out of the house and nodded contently. Good, things were moving forward. Soon this place would be filled with laughter and kids running around and playing. The thought alone was enough to bring a smile to her lips but it didn’t last long. What would happen with this place if she’d fail? What would happen, if they’d die, either when capturing Odahviing or when facing off against Alduin? Would her Shield-siblings step in for them? Probably, but she’d better talk to them about it.

Leaving Breezehome behind, she went up to Jorrvaskr, looking for her siblings. She found Vilkas sitting at the table in the study, deep in the lecture of a book. Knocking on the doorframe to make her presence known, she entered.

“Hello brother”, she greeted him.

“Good to see you, sister”, his face lit up, “How was your trip to High Hrothgar? Did the scroll work?”

During her confinement after the siege and the time working on Breezehome, they had often spent the evenings in Jorrvaskr, both her and the ranger too exhausted to bother with cooking. Of course, they had shared their stories again. Among those was the story about a crazy mage and a magic scroll.

“It did”, she nodded, “I can use Dragonrend now. Though I must admit, that I don’t like using it.”

“Why that?”, Vilkas leaned back in his chair.

“Master Arngeir once said, to learn a Thu’um, you have to absorb its essence, it’s meaning into your very being”, she flopped down in the other chair at the table, “The essence of that one makes me shake to the core.”

She ran a hand over the back of her neck, trying to find the right words.

“Remember when you got sick with Bone Break Fever when we were kids?”, she asked him, “And you were having these weird fever dreams about dying?”

“Oh, don’t remind me”, he groaned.

“It made you feel vulnerable, mortal, right?”, she went on.

“Yeah”, he nodded.

“Dragonrend feels just like that. Every part of me feels its mortality like an acute pain when I use it”, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, dispelling the memory, “If I had a choice, I’d much rather go without using it.”

“That sounds terrifying indeed”, Vilkas agreed.

“It really makes you think”, she stole a sideward glance at him.

“About what?”, her brother tilted his head, “About death?”

“Fast to catch on as always”, she smirked, then turned serious again, “I’m worried that I won’t make it, not this time.”

“Sis, you are the best among us, the most capable warrior we have”, he leaned forward, touching her shoulder, “There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“Bishop almost died”, she whispered, looking away, “I almost died up there.”

Frowning, her brother griped her shoulder more tightly, making her turn towards him: “What happened?”

“He came, brother. Alduin came and we fought”, she swallowed hard, “I managed to fight him off but he got away. I put all my power into it, but it wasn’t enough. Bishop…he was wounded pretty badly. I almost lost him…”

She had to stop then, her throat growing tight and she felt tears of desperation burning in her eyes. Closing them she fought the tears down.

“But you didn’t”, Vilkas voice grew soft, something that happened only rarely, “Ylva, it’s going to be alright.”

“But what if it isn’t?”, Ylva had gathered herself enough to look her brother in the eyes, “You don’t know how powerful he is. I have to seek him out, wherever he is hiding, but I’m afraid I won’t come back.”

Her brother paled at the thought, the grip on her shoulder tightening.

“We will come with you”, he said, “All of us. We will fight beside you, sister.”

“No”, she shook her head vehemently, “I can’t let you. Please, I can’t risk your lives too. Skyrim needs the Companions, needs its protectors. I have to do this without you.”

“And Skyrim needs you, sister! _We_ need you!”, he enforced, “Do you think any of us would stand by when you risk your life? We are a pack, never forget that. And the pack hunts together!”

“Do you remember what Skjor used to call me?”, she asked.

“The lone white wolf”, Vilkas grimaced.

“Brother, as much as I hate going in alone, I think I have to”, she touched his hand, squeezing it lightly, “Can you promise me something, should I not come back?”

“Anything, sister”, he held her gaze.

“I want Breezehome to become an orphanage, even if I should be able to see it through to the end”, she explained, “I don’t want war and battle to be my legacy, brother. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course!”, he nodded, “We all will do our best. But do us a favor and try to come back alive and in one piece.”

“I can’t promise it”, she smirked, “But I will try.”

“Will your ranger come with you?”, Vilkas surprised her.

“I don’t know if I want him to”, she admitted, “You know I love him and I don’t want to lose him. I’ve tried to send him away so often, but he stuck around regardless. I…I don’t know. We will see I guess.”

“Now I feel bad for ever envying you”, he chuckled.

“You? Envied _me_?”, she stared at him.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “The old man loved you more than anything. And then you became the godsdamned Dragonborn too! You didn’t see how proud he was of you. He wasn’t the same around Farkas and me, no matter how hard we trained.”

“I’m sorry, brother”, she truly was, “I didn’t know.”

“The old man had his reasons”, he sighed.

“You know, for a long time I was feeling the same way around you”, she smiled, “I love you and Farkas, you are my brothers. But still, you and he always had something I never had. You are brothers by blood – not just because you grew up together.”

“You are our little sister, never forget that”, he patted her shoulder, “We may fight and argue, but even if you can shout a man into pieces or shout me off a cliff, you’ll always be my baby sister.”

“And you’ll always be my big brother”, she smiled.

 

Moving through the thick grass of the tundra, Bishop had his eyes fixed on a group of deer grazing around a small pond. Silently drawing his bow, he aimed for the stag’s neck. The string snapped back as it unleashed the arrow, scraping along his armguard. The arrow hit its target perfectly, but the animal was still alive. The deer dashed away in frenzy, one running by only inches away from where he was crouching in the grass. Karnwyr shot after the stag, biting into its hind leg, slowing it down. They were a well-attuned team, he and his furry brother.

The stag struggled for a while longer, but Bishop’s arrow had pierced the carotid artery, steadily bleeding the animal out. As it collapsed to the ground, the ranger was swiftly by his side, quickly putting the dying animal out of his misery with his hunting knife.

“This one will fetch us a good price, don’t cha think?”, he said to his wolf as he started skinning the animal, “Anoriath will be very pleased.”

Working routinely, he gutted the stag, taking the good parts and leaving the rest out for the wolves roaming the Whiterun plains. He knew that there would be several hungry packs roaming around that time of year, as the northern regions of Skyrim had become too cold and bare even for the most adept of hunters.

Packing up his prey he turned back towards Whiterun. As he walked up to the city, his mind started drifting again. Three days. It had just been three days since they had talked the Jarl into that crazy plan. Ylva had been working her alchemy table relentlessly since then, preparing all sort of potions. He had brought her all the ingredients he could find while out in the plains, hunting not only for game but for mountain flowers, tundra cotton, and even the rare wild nirnroot.

The last days he had woken without her by his side each morning. When he went looking, he’d found her either working on her potions or reading up in a book. She was anxious and restless. He could tell that she was troubled and he knew she realized the same about him. Only when they were lying in bed together, her nestled against his chest, did his heart calm down enough to be able to sleep. Whenever they weren’t near each other he felt her absence like an acute pain in his chest. He needed to be close to her, no matter the danger that came with it. Damned hells of Oblivion – he’d die for her if he had to.

Secretly he wished that she would turn her back to Skyrim, tell the Jarl to not go forward with the plan and just leave it be. Ever since the encounter with the small girl in Windhelm, the thought with Ylva cradling his child in her arms had had his heart beating wildly. It baffled him, how much he yearned for that. Though with what lay ahead of them, he was uncertain it could ever be a possibility.

Something in his guts told him that she was preparing for more than just a fight. He had caught her writing long letters when she thought he wasn’t looking and her frequent trips to Whiterun made him wonder if she was saying her goodbyes to her family and friends. The thought alone made his skin crawl and his guts clench dangerously. Wherever Alduin was hiding, she was preparing to leave the second she knew where he was and she wasn’t thinking she’d be coming back. She was prepared to die, unflinching, unwavering as she was walking into her doom. How could she do that? How could she be so stupidly selfless? Didn’t she value her own life at all? Just thinking about it made him want to pull his hair out. It was so godsdamn frustrating. Yet, if she weren’t who she was, he wouldn’t love her so much.

After selling the meat with keeping the best bits for themselves, Bishop picked up some produce at Carlotta’s stand before heading down to the stables to pick up Balo and then back to the Lodge. Tonight, he had some special meal planned for her, maybe that would help distract her.

Karnwyr trotted by his horse’s side, the stallion so used to the wolf by now that he was barely flinching if the wolf came to close. After he had gotten used to long hours in the saddle, he had to admit that he had grown quite fond of riding. Balo and he had formed a mutual respect and understanding over time. While they were still a long way from the unity Allie and Ylva had as they moved across Skyrim’s landscape, he wasn’t too far off.

On horseback, the small distance to the Lodge didn’t take very long and soon he dismounted in the small stable next to the bridge. Allie wasn’t there, so Ylva was likely still gone, but she surely wouldn’t take long to come back either. Maybe she had gone on to Riverwood to speak to Gerdur? She was still waiting for the delivery of the new furniture for the orphanage.

The thoughts of happy children playing there made him smile. What would he not give to see Ylva surrounded by them? Sighing he shook his head to dispel the thought and quickly started to work on preparing the meal.

 

When Ylva arrived two hours or so later, the air was filled with the mouth-watering scent of venison covered in a layer of snowberry paste and wrapped in pie crust slowly baking in the oven surrounded by chopped carrots, potatoes, and apple slices in a large pan. Bishop was sitting close to the oven opening as he waited for his masterpiece to finish. Lydia had come up the stairs several times too, not being able to resist the delicious smell.

“Hhm”, Ylva hummed as she pulled the door shut behind her, “That smells amazing!”

“Not as amazing as you do”, Bishop stood up from his place and closed the distance between them.

“Charmer”, she smiled.

He stole a quick but sweet kiss, before looking at her again.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth”, he whispered.

“What are you planning?”, she eyed him suspiciously.

“What?”, he chuckled, “Are you afraid I’m going to poison you here, in your home where your housecarl is ready to snap my neck any minute?”

“True”, she giggled, “Still, doesn’t sound like a very wise thing to do.”

“Oh, come on!”, he pressed on, “You’ve been sleeping in my presence for months now, and you’re still alive, intact, not pregnant. Be a good girl and just do as I ask.”

Giving him one more suspicious glance, she opened her mouth closed her eyes. Grinning contently, he placed the snowberries he had been hiding in his hands on her tongue. Gently closing her mouth his thumb lingered on her lips a moment longer. When she swallowed, he quickly leaned forward, hungrily kissing her. The remaining berry juice mixed with her intoxicating own taste was almost enough to make him want to forget about the meal that he had prepared for them. He wanted nothing more than to set her on the small kitchen counter and ravish her then and there.

A nervous clearing of the throat made him pull back only to catch a red-faced Lydia disappearing down the staircase to the lower floor.

“Someone has been missing me I see”, Ylva giggled, her eyes heavy-lidded but sparkling with mirth.

“You have no idea, sweetness”, he smirked, kissing her cheek before letting her go, “Come, dinner is almost ready too. I’ve made something special.”

“Oh, and what would that be?”, she peeked into the oven.

“Now, now, princess”, he turned her away, ushering her towards the dining table, “Don’t spoil your own surprise.”

“You are acting strange”, she observed as he went back to check on the venison.

“Is it so strange for me to want to spoil you for change?”, he turned back to her, “I got lucky while I was out hunting today and I thought it would be best to celebrate it with the woman I love.”

“I guess so”, she smirked, “Who knows if we get another chance to enjoy ourselves this way.”

Her words cut right through his cheeriness and bit into his heart. Instead of answering, he rummaged through another corner of the kitchen, pulling out two bottles of Honnigbrew mead and placed them on the table.

“The Jarl sent me a note that the trap is ready to spring tomorrow”, she avoided his gaze.

“Well then”, he turned towards her, a smile on his lips that didn’t meet his eyes, “We’ll better make the most out of tonight, right?”

She met him with the same smile: “Right.”

 

The roast was tastier than anything she had ever eaten in her entire life. The sweet and tangy taste of the snowberry paste together with the gamy taste of the venison harmonized perfectly with the vegetables. Enjoying the wonderful food, the tension that had accompanied her throughout the day ever since she had gotten the Jarl’s notice was letting off. It was true what Bishop had said. If tomorrow would be the day they’d face Odahviing, she could at least enjoy this last evening with the man she loved. The gods surely wouldn’t mind that.

They continued to flirt and joke relentlessly as they enjoyed their dinner. After a while, even Lydia began to laugh with them after she had gotten over her initial embarrassment and joined them. She even offered to clear the table afterward, which they both all too happily accepted. Leaving the kitchen and the mess to her, they went down the stairs.

Just as Ylva was about to turn left towards the living quarters, Bishop whirled her around. Pushing her up against the doorframe connecting the two parts of the Lodge, he locked lips with hers. Either the impact of her back with the wooden frame or the need with which he kissed her left her breathless, knocking all air out of her. His hands were everywhere at once, running up and down her curves, squeezing her ass and mounds.

Whether it was the threat of nearby death or their pent-up frustration, she was already shivering with desire. She wanted him, she wanted him badly. Wanted him to make her forget, make her feel what it meant to be alive and loved.

His lips left her mouth to explore down her neck as far as her clothes allowed him to go. Her own fingers were shakenly unbuttoning her vest, exposing more skin. A hand moved up, cupped her jaw as his thumb caressed her lips. Her mouth was dry, yet she parted her lips, inviting the thumb into her mouth. With the tip of her tongue, she tested his skin. She tasted some remainders of the roast he had made, together with some mead he had wiped from his chin only bare moments ago. Letting her tongue run over the digit, she finally wrapped her mouth around him completely.

Teeth bit into her neck and she moaned lightly against his hand. With his knee, he forced her thighs apart, lifting his leg to rub at her heat. She whimpered softly, raking through his hair and down his neck. Bishop pulled his and away and replaced the thumb with his own lips and tongue. As the kiss grew more passionate, she dug her nails in the back of his neck. His own hands trailed down her form, settling on her ass and lifting her up. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist. As she felt the hardness pressing against her thighs, she pulled back and gasped.

“You can feel it, don’t you”, he leaned forward, nibbling on her earlobe, “How much I want you.”

“Fuck, Bishop”, she stifled a moan. The loud clatter from upstairs made her all too aware of the closeness of Lydia.

“Oh, don’t worry sweetness”, he chuckled, “I’m going to soon enough.”

He turned, squeezing her ass firmly as he carried on towards their bedroom. With his hands occupied elsewhere, Ylva used her chance to cover his neck with hot open-mouthed kisses.

“Damn you woman”, he groaned.

“What’s that ranger?”, she purred, “Can’t handle me?”

“Hah!”, he protested, “I’ll make your squirm under me tonight.”

He threw her on the bed, quickly crawling after her. His mouth found hers again muffling her protest. With quick trained fingers he opened her belts, discarding them quickly. Despite the layers of fabric still keeping them apart, Bishop ground himself relentlessly against her heat, making her become more vocal by the second. Her skin felt aflame and her insides twitched with the desire to become one with him. Fuck, she wanted him in her, wanted to feel every lush inch filling her completely.

Despite her squirming and begging, he didn’t stop. Even worse, he slipped a hand under her tight breeches, touching that bundle of nerves above her entrance. Adjusting his angle to not squeeze his own hand, he continued grinding into her, while slowly massaging her clit.

“How do you like that?”, his voice was a low rasp in her ear.

“Ah fuck”, she moaned, buckling under him. He knew damn well that he was bringing her close already.

“Not yet”, he grinned, then stole a quick kiss, “I’m going to take my sweet time with you tonight.”

Throwing her head back into the mattress she groaned. Bishop was too damned good at this game. His other hand roughly massaged her boob through the fabric of her open vest and shirt. The throbbing in her lower regions was almost unbearable now as he continued his assault there. Then, finally, he let two fingers slide inside her, filling that aching void.

“Ah!”, she moaned loudly, as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her. The ranger slowed down, letting her ride out her extasy.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”, he grinned.

“Yes, I am”, she licked her lips hungrily, “But I want more.”

“Oh, someone is hungry tonight”, he smirked, “Well, we better sate that hungry dragon, shall we?”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled him down for another kiss. She’d wipe that victorious grin from his face. Taking control turned out to be more of a struggle than she had thought. Bishop had her pinned under him and he intended to keep it that way. Pulling on the collar of his shirt Ylva stretched upward, sucking hard on his skin.

“Hey!”, he protested.

Using his distraction, she finally managed to get on top of him.

“Tsk, tsk”, he looked down at the red mark she had left on his skin, “A hickie? Really princess? Aren’t you too old for that crap?”

“Well, if it gets me what I want”, she purred, leaning forward, kissing the exposed skin on his chest.

“Ah I see”, he chuckled, “The honorable Dragonborn is fighting dirty….”

“Now don’t act like you don’t like it”, her breath grazed his skin as she moved upwards, kissing her way along his jawline.

“When you put it like that”, he groaned.

With a triumphant grin on her lips, she kissed him, letting her passion spill over like molten iron. Her hands were pulling his shirt up, before caressing every inch of his lean and muscular built. His own hands were busy unbuttoning the rest of her vest and slipping under her shirt. The hot touch of his fingers made her tremble again. Clothes were nothing but a nuisance now. She needed to feel him on her skin, feel his warmth burning into her.

They discarded their clothes in between hungry and passionate kisses. Only their breeches remained. Leaving his lips, she started kissing her way downward, softly raking her nails over his hot cinnamon skin all while locking her eyes with his. The heavy-lidded ambers were burning with desire. His breathing came heavy now, and his body trembled lightly against her skin. As her fingers reached the rim of his breeches, he gasped.

Painstakingly slowly she pulled down the leathers. She wasn’t surprised to see that he wasn’t wearing any small clothes. They both preferred it that way, hating the feel of their bodies being confined any more than with regular clothes. With a devilish smile, she tossed over her shoulder, enjoying the wonderful view before her.

Bishop was completely naked now. His skin glistered golden in the light of the torches, the flickering of light and shadow over his form only accentuating the air of raw power and sex he emitted. Licking her lips, she settled between his thighs, slowly bending down. His eyes were glued to her lips, but to his dismay, she didn’t wrap them around what he most desired at that moment.

Her nails scraped over his inner thighs, drawing lazy circles and curves up and down his skin. Every time she came close to his twitching member but didn’t touch it, he groaned in frustration. She was driving him mad with lust. It made her feel incredibly powerful. Yes, she wanted to drive him mad with desire, wanted him to beg her to touch him where he wanted her most.

Every so often, when her hands reached close to his knees she leaned forward, grazing her boobs over his cock and balls.

“You temptress”, he growled, thrusting his hips up, letting his member slide between her breasts.

“What, can’t take it anymore?”, she cooed, letting her hands move in the opposite direction.

“You’re torturing me”, he rasped between ragged breaths.

“Is that so?”, she teased, shifting position.

While she stared at him, she slowly bent down. Light as a feather she grazed his skin with her lips, right at the base of his member. Just like she did before, he threw his head back into the pillow, groaning in frustration. Smiling to herself, she placed more feathery kisses slowly moving up his length. His tip was shining with wetness already. Oh, he was close to bursting, was wanting nothing more than to spill his thick juice inside her.

Licking his tip, she settled her lips around that little bead of skin at the base of his head.

“By the gods”, he panted heavily.

Hearing his voice breaking was enough encouragement for her. Carefully she sucked on that bead, pulling it into her mouth and lightly nibbling on it. He was groaning and shivering all over now, yearning for release.

“Gods, Ylva”, he begged, “Please!”

She pulled back, replacing her teeth with her hand, not slowing down on her relentless teasing.

“Please what?”, her voice was low in sultry.

“You want me to say it?”, he gasped, “Hah…please…please…let me come in your mouth.”

The rush she felt at hearing him say it was indescribable. She felt so powerful in that very moment, not even absorbing a dragon’s soul after slaying it could compare to that. She opened her lips, slowly taking in as much of him as she could. Her tongue wrapped itself around his throbbing length, rubbing and teasing that sensitive spot at the base of his head. Steadying herself with one hand she used the other to grasp his tight and hard jewels. It only took two or three bobbing movements before he spilled himself calling out her name.

Keeping her head still and her lips tightly wrapped around him, she swallowed till his member stopped twitching. When she was sure he was finished, she sat upright, licking her lips.

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”, she smirked.

Bishop’s chest was still heaving heavily as he shook his head in disbelief.

“What in Oblivion was that woman?”, he rasped.

“You seemed to like it”, she shrugged.

“Seem to like it”, he shook his head, “One moment longer and I’m sure my balls would have exploded!”

Giggling, she crawled up, letting her breast graze over his tense muscles. When she was level with his chest, his hands dashed forward, pulling her the rest of the way. He kissed her fiercely, turning them in bed so they both lay on their side.

“So that was your plan huh?”, he rasped in between demanding kisses, “Make me beg for it, princess?”

He didn’t give her a chance to answer him. His grip on her neck was tight enough to be slightly painful, but not enough to really hurt her. A shiver ran down her spine as his lips assaulted hers again, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. Her heart was beating wildly.

Bishop turned her then on her stomach while twisting her arms on her back. Leaning down, his warm breath tickled on her ear.

“I’ll show you who is in charge here”, he growled, making her tremble even more, “You’ll be begging _me_ before I’m finished with you.”

Despite his sudden roughness, she wasn’t afraid. No, in fact, feeling his sudden raw power aroused her even more. She loved this side of him, how he could make her submit so easily. Swallowing hard she hardly struggled against his grasp.

“I know exactly what I want to do to you know”, she didn’t need to see his face to know he was grinning.

The weight on her back eased as he leaned over to the side, digging for something. For what she wasn’t sure, but she was excited to see what he had in store for her.

“First”, he announced, “I’m gonna make sure that your hands stay where I want them.”

With one hand pressing down on her, keeping her arms twisted on her back, she felt him wrap something around her wrists. It felt raw, like a rope. Was he tying her up?

“Am I too much for you to handle, ranger?”, she teased him, “So you have to tie me up?”

“Careful with that mouth of yours”, he warned as he tightened the knot. She could feel the rope cutting into her skin. It was a sensation unlike any she had felt before. It was frightening how much she enjoyed it.

With her hands secured, he made her lift up for a moment, dragging the rope above her breast twice, securing her arms tightly to her sides. With a pull on the rope, her arms were suddenly moved backward slightly, making her shoulder blades connect. He was skilled as he tight her up, his fingers working quick and steady.

Bringing the rope forward a second time, he tied it around her armpit, moved it back and connected it to the tie laying between her shoulder blades, before doing the same on the other side. Lifting her up a second time, he wrapped the rope around her once more, tying it under her boobs, then repeating the same process of securing it to the one strand on her back.

She strained against the rope, but he quickly leaned forward, pinning her down with his weight.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you, princess”, he warned, “The more you struggle the tighter the ropes will cut you. And you don’t wanna get marks all over your beautiful body, now would you?”

“You are full of surprises”, she turned her face to the side to look at her ranger.

“Ah”, he nibbled her ear, “You thought I was joking back then when I told Jack that it wouldn’t be me getting tied up? Now be a good girl and lift that sweet ass of yours for me!”

Licking her lips in anticipation, she retorted: “I’d love to see you make me.”

“You’re in a teasing mood, huh?”, he chuckled, “Let’s see if you’re still in the mood for that when I’m done with you.”

Bringing down his knee between her thighs he forced her legs apart. Kneeling behind her, he firmly grasped her hips, lifting them up. Her breathing was heavy and she trembled in anticipation. By now she had become used to his forcefulness when they came together, but this new side of him made her want him even more. She was rendered completely helpless by him. It was a sensation unlike any other. Her mind was telling her to be afraid, but her body could only feel…excited by it.

She felt his hot breath tickle the skin of her ass, grazing that growing wetness between her thighs. Not being able to see him or even move so she could, made the tension even worse. Bishop was well aware of it as he stayed still for a moment, enjoying her squirming. Then, so suddenly it made her cry out in surprise, he pushed two fingers inside her wetness. Turning his hand as it moved in and out of her wet depths he reached forward with his thumb, rubbing the bundle of nerves whenever he rammed his fingers in to his knuckles.

The ropes cutting into her flesh as she trembled mixed with the continued assault on her most private parts with the absolute helplessness was too much. Screaming into her pillow as the orgasm rippled through her, she felt as if she was edging on unconsciousness. Her lungs felt as they were about to burst.

Bishop reacted quickly, tugging on her hair to force her face off the pillow.

“Now, now, princess”, he said, “You need to breathe! Or you’ll pass out before the real fun starts.”

By the gods, there was more? She was trembling from head to toe as the last ripples of her orgasm ebbed away. Yet, she was still not done and neither was he. Her insides twitched in yearning, wanting nothing more than to wrap themselves around his pulsating member. As if he could read her mind, he shifted behind her. Hoping to be finally filled by his manhood, she lifted her hips higher, urging him to thrust forward.

Instead of giving in, he let his cock slide between her slick folds, rubbing against her clit, making her squirm even more.

“You’re only tightening those robes if you move around so much”, he chuckled. Despite his outward control, his voice gave away just how close he was too. He was barely managing to hold himself together as he teased her. Every tease excited him just as much as it did her. With that knowledge, she took a chance and started rolling her hips, grinding against his raging erection.

“Fuck”, he gasped, losing his cool for a moment. He grasped her hips tightly, digging his fingers into her flesh. Still, she continued rolling against him. She wasn’t as helpless as she had thought, making her even more excited.

“You want it that badly, huh?”, he breathed heavily again, “Want this?”

He thrust forward, rubbing hard against her clit. Yelping, she shuddered. Fuck yes, she wanted him. Speech was lost on her, so instead, she lifted her hips again in answer.

“Alright”, he groaned, “Here it comes!”

He buried himself to the hilt with one powerful thrust. Another wave crashed over her, more violently than the ones before. Her insides contracted and twitched around him as she screamed his name into her pillow over and over again.

As his own peak came close, he yanked at the ropes at her back, lifting her chest from the mattress. Gripping her tied arms, he drove himself into her times and times again, till he couldn’t take it any longer himself. With one last powerful thrust, he released, spilling his hot seed deep within her.

Utterly spent, he let go of her, panting heavily.

“Fuck”, he gasped, “That…that was…”

“Intense?”, she answered, still barely catching her breath.

“Yeah”, he brushed some sweaty locks out of her face.

“Care to untie me?”, she grinned back, “My hands are starting to feel numb.”

“Oh shit”, his hands were quickly on her back, loosening the rope, “Sorry, I must have tied the knots too tight.”

“Or I’ve moved too much”, she chuckled.

“There, better?”, the rope came loose fairly quickly.

Flexing her fingers, she was relieved as blood rushed back into them. “Yeah.”

Meeting eyes with the ranger she giggled: “You have quite a way with ropes.”

“I hope I didn’t scare you”, he admitted.

“It was quite…exciting”, she kissed his cheek, “though a word of warning would be nice the next time.”

“Is that so?”, he grinned, stealing a kiss, “I’ll make sure to remember it.”

She returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck. If only they could be certain there would be a next time.


	67. The trap snaps shut

Bishop’s heart was pounding in his chest. This was it, there was no turning back now. They were walking up the stairs to the great hall of Dragonsreach. As always, he walked a few steps behind Ylva, Karnwyr at his side. She had been busy preparing his morning, packing the many potions she had created in her pouches and her backpack, gathering supplies. The red locks she had braided backward in a delicate design, flat against the back of her head, making sure her auburn locks wouldn’t spill from her helmet. It was as if she was expecting a long battle, either when capturing the dragon or shortly after. She was determined to go through with this, no matter what happened.

And what about him? Was he ready to go through with this? Could he stay with her even when they both knew it meant death? He had never been the selfless and sacrificing type, far from it. Whatever he had done in the past, it had been for his own good, working only for coin or other privileges. Now he was fighting for her, trying to protect the one person that had shown him that he could be more, that there was more in life than seeking your personal gain.

Reaching the throne, Bishop watched as Ylva climbed the last few stairs to stand face to face with the Jarl.

“Ah, Harbinger”, he greeted her.

“My Jarl”, she nodded respectfully, “I’ve received your notice. Are you ready to spring the trap to the dragon?”

“As I promised, my men stand ready”, he replied, “The great chains are oiled. We wait for your word.”

“Good”, she straightened her shoulders, something Bishop had seen her do every time before charging into battle, “I’m well prepared myself. I’ll talk to the men of what I need them to do.”

“Alright”, the Jarl stood up, waving for his men to join him on the upper floor, “Let’s get to it then.”

A group of guards joined them as they made their way up to the upper floor of the palace. As two of the men opened one of the great doors there, the ranger slightly gasped in surprise. They stood on a roofed balcony, large enough to fit two houses in there easily. The floor was made of stone instead of the wooden flooring in the rest of the palace. Turning around, he realized that the wall from this side was made of stone as well. There was no denying this place had been built to withstand a dragon’s fire. There were galleries to either side of the wall overlooking the room. They must have been used for keeping an eye on the captive dragon Ylva had told him about.

And then there was the trap. A large and heavy wooden yoke was hanging from the ceiling. It was upheld by two enormous iron chains, connected to large cogwheels on either side of the hall, about a third of the width of the room. How many men must it take to work those mechanics? How heavy must the chains and the yoke be? When it came crashing down, he sure as hell didn’t want anywhere near those things.

“So, Dragonborn”, the Jarl turned to Ylva, “My men are ready. Let’s hear that plan again.”

“I will call the dragon”, Ylva explained, “He will not be able to refuse my challenge. When he comes, I will bring him down and lure him into the keep. When he’s in the right positions, I need your men to be quick. They need to unleash the yolk just in time for the dragon to be captured. Remember I need him alive: If the trap falls down too soon, it might snap his neck or cave in the dragon’s skull. Your men will need to wait for the right moment.”

“You heard her”, Irileth addressed the guards, “Move up to the gallery, men! Let us capture ourselves a dragon.”

“My men are ready”, the Jarl eyed her warily, “Make sure you do your part. I’m putting my city in your hands.”

“It is my city too”, Ylva reminded him, “I wouldn’t do this if I had another choice.”

“Are you sure about this?”, Bishop asked quietly as they walked to the large balcony.

“You know it”, she glanced at him, quickly caressing his cheek, “Try to stand back and watch out for Karnwyr, will you?”

“Don’t get killed”, he leaned forward, placing a quick kiss on her lips.

Her eyes stayed on him as he moved back, whistling for Karnwyr to join him up on the gallery to the right. There he could back Ylva up with his bow while staying out of immediate danger. They had gone over this plan several times these past days and he told her he didn’t like it one bit. Still, she had insisted that she had to be the one to lure the dragon in, that there wasn’t any other way. Nocking an arrow, he held his gaze fixed on her, a silent prayer in his mind. _Please, gods, keep her safe._

“G0 on, Dragonborn”, the Jarl said, “Now call that dragon.”

“It would be better for you to step back, Jarl Balgruuf”, Ylva advised him, “I don’t want to put you and your men in any more danger than necessary.”

“Do you want to insult me? I’m a Nord, I won’t stand idly by like a coward!”, he replied.

“Fine”, Ylva breathed displeased.

Bishop could tell that she wasn’t happy with the Jarl’s decision. This whole plan was one big risk and she was well aware of that. Still, she went up to the parapet wall, taking a deep breath.

“OD-AH-VIING!”

Her Thu’um cut through the skies, echoing in the mountains in the north of Whiterun.

The guard next to Bishop flinched whispering: “By the gods.”

“You haven’t seen shit yet”, he gave back, his gaze turning skywards.

A loud roar thundered through the sky. Her call had been answered. Swallowing hard, he tightened his grip on his bow. Ylva stood there, not bothering to put on her helmet. It had taken damage during the fight with Alduin as she screamed fire at the beast. Maybe she didn’t want to risk it being broken again.

“Did you hear that?”, a guard moved closer to the parapet.

“Steady guards!”, Irileth shouted.

A big red shadow swept down from the right with a loud cry, grabbing the guard.

“Dovahkiin!”, the dragon thundered, “Here I am!”

The dragon was as big as Alduin himself. Its scales were red, the thin leather of his wings a pale violet. It was a frightening sight, making the guards nervous. Bishop had to remind himself that most of them probably hadn’t been up close to a dragon before.

“Steady!”, the Jarl barked, “Steady now! Keep under cover until it’s down!”

The dragon swept over the balcony again, fire spewing from his mouth. The Jarl and his housecarl pressed themselves to the wall on either side of the opening, ducking out of the flames.

Ylva, however, turned directly towards the dragon, a grim look on her face.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The blue flames he had seen before sprang from her mouth, hitting the dragon. With a screech of agony, he flapped his wings. The Thu’um was too strong to overcome even then, making him land on the porch.

“Los daar fin suleyk daar horvutah Alduin?“, it cried as it landed.

“Hon dii zul!”, Ylva shouted, “Hi los nid ronit!”

Hearing her use the dragon tongue made Bishop all too aware of her inner dragon. She was no mere mortal and in moments like this, he felt their difference in power like a blow to the guts. How could he claim to protect her when she far outmatched him?

“Hi hind!”, the dragon retorted, his sharp maul snapping forward.

Ylva dodged the bite, jumping back. Drawing her bow, she stayed out of the dragon’s reach while firing arrows at him. The guards joined in, showering the beast with arrows.

“Get back!”, the voice of the Jarl thundered, “GET BACK! We need to trap it, not kill it!”

As the dragon gathered his breath for another shout, Ylva quickly used Dragonrend a second time on him, silencing the dragon before the Thu’um could roll off his tongue. The yellow eyes shone with fury as he launched forward a second time.

Ylva had expected it and dodged to the left, continuing to fire as she moved back further.

“That’s it!”, Balgruuf barked, “Stand ready!”

Bishop was moving to the column where another guard stood by. Every moment now it would be the moment. Every moment the trap would snap shut.

“Dovahkiin, dir!”, the grounded dragon spat.

“NOW!”, Ylva cried, dodging another attack.

“Pull the fucking chain!”, Bishop shouted at the guard that had been frozen in shock. Flinching into movement the guard pulled with all his might. His counterpart on the other side did the same.

With a loud thud, the yoke came crashing down and snapped in place. The dragon roared in pain.

“NID!”, he bellowed in frustration.

“Got him!”, Balgruuf shouted triumphantly.

“I think it’s holding!”, the guard from the other side rejoiced.

“Horvutah med kodaav. Caught like a bear in a trap...”, the dragon growled, “Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin.”

Ylva came to stand before the dragon, crossing her arms.

“Ah. I forget. You do not have the dovah speech”, the dragon shook his head.

“Zu’u tinvaak fin dovah zul”, she cut in, “But others don’t.”

“Los daar ful? Mindoraan”, the scaled beast nodded, “My... eagerness to meet you in battle was my... undoing, Dovahkiin. I salute your, hmm, low cunning in devising such a grahmindol - stratagem.”

“That’s right. Where is he hiding?”, she questioned the dragon.

“Rinik vazah. An apt phrase”, the beast released a guttural sound, making Bishop’s hair stand up as he came to join Ylva, “Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him.”

“And what in Oblivion does that have to do with her question?”, Bishop growled.

“Yes, where is Alduin?”, she pressed on.

“Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons. I digress”, the dragon let his head sink apologetically, “He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor... the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards... His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldalfn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there. Zu'u lost ofan hin laan... now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?”

“Let you go free? Ha!”, Bishop shook his head.

“Not until Alduin is defeated”, Ylva replied to his shock.

“Ah, well”, the dragon almost seemed to smile, “Hmm…krosis. There is one…detail about Skuldafin I neglected to mention.”

“Spit it out”, she insisted.

“Only this. You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. Of course...”, his yellow eyes sparkled, “I _could_ fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this.”

“We seem to be at an impasse, then”, she observed.

“Indeed”, the same guttural noise came from its throat, “Orin brit ro. I cannot leave here until you defeat Alduin, which you cannot do without my help.”

Ylva was gnawing her lip, a sign that she was thinking hard. She wasn’t considering…was she? Climbing on top of that dragon to fly it? What if the dragon was lying? That thing could just as well fly off with her and then throw her off his back! No, he couldn’t let her do that!

Reaching for her arm he pulled her away from the dragon.

“Wha…?”, she looked up at him surprised.

“Are you insane?”, he hissed, “You are going to trust that…that overgrown lizard and fly it?”

“Bish, you heard him!”, she pleaded, “There’s no other way to get to Skuldafn!”

“Gods you are insane!”, he ran his hands to his hair in frustration, his heart beating wildly as his guts were clenched in a tight knot. No, he couldn’t do this. She’d die! She’d go and die and he could do nothing to protect her.

With his voice loud and trembling with anger, frustration and most of all terror, he blurted: “Should have known all that head trauma would get to you, sooner or later.”

He could see the hurt in her eyes. She was pleading with him, pleading for him to stay. But he couldn’t. His fear got the better of him.

“I will not stick my neck out for you this time!”, he turned away. He needed to get away, his body urging him to flee and run away.

“Bishop!”, she cried pleadingly, “Wait! Please, don’t leave me!”

He looked at her again, seeing the tears welling up in her eyes. She was so beautiful, even now. His heart wept as he threw up his hands. No, he couldn’t stay, couldn’t watch her kill herself. With his jaw set tight, he whistled for Karnwyr, storming out of the palace and out of her life forever.

 

 _Don’t leave me, I can’t do this without you!_ The words died in her throat as she watched her ranger storm through the door, his wolf trotting behind him with his tail between his legs. She felt hollow as if something had been ripped from her chest. Torn she remained frozen in place. One part of her begged her to run after him, make him stay. The other was reminding her of her duty. That she had to see this to the end no matter what.

“Dovahkiin, what will it be?”, Odahviing questioned, “I’m waiting for your answer!”

Without looking at them, she knew everybody’s eyes were on her. They were waiting for her word. No, she had no choice. If she didn’t risk it, she would have risked Whiterun for nothing. Wiping the tears away, she straightened her back, taking a deep breath to gather herself. She could do this, she had to. She was the Dragonborn.

With her aching heart somewhat back under control, she faced the dragon again: “I’m still wondering if I can trust you.”

“Zu'u ni tahrodiis. It was you that lured me here and took me prisoner...”, the dragon retorted, “Vobalaan grahmindol. I have done nothing to earn your distrust.”

“You did try to trick me into letting you go”, she pointed out.

“Hin aar, orin nu. And yet here I am, still your prisoner”, Odahviing shook his head, making the scales scratch against the yoke.

“I will free you if I have your word that you will take me to Skuldafn”, she said.

“Onikaan koraav gein miraad”, the dragon nodded contently, “It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn.”

“Release the dragon!”, she instructed the guards.

“What?”, the guards on either side called out.

“I said, release him”, Ylva enforced.

“Carry on, soldiers”, Jarl Balgruuf gave his consent, “This is all part of the Dragonborn’s plan.”

Several guards came down to work the cogwheel, pulling the heavy yoke beak up. As it came loose, Odahviing pulled his head back quickly.

“By the gods!”, Irileth twisted her fingers, calling upon her magic.

“Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal”, the dragon called out ad he turned around.

“He won’t harm you”, Ylva reassured her, “He won’t harm anybody if he’s not provoked.”

“Are you sure this will work?”, Balgruuf eyed the dragon suspiciously, “Your ranger didn’t think so.”

Ylva shot him a glance that made him pale in fear.

“Not another word”, she hissed, “I thank you and your men for your help. Now, let me do my part.”

Securing her bow and tightening the straps on her backpack, she followed the dragon to the balcony. 

“Saraan uth - I await your command, as promised”, Odahviing said as she reached him, “Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be”, she nodded, “Take me to Skuldafn.”

“Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, you envy of the dov will only increase”, he teased.

“That may be so”, she said, “But remember, while Alduin can devour the souls of the mortals, I devour the souls of dovahs.”

“A fair warning”, Odahvhiing, bowed his head, allowing her to climb it.

As she reached for his horns to straddle his back, both the Jarl and his housecarl came to wish her luck.

“You’re either the bravest person I’ve ever met or the biggest fool”, the Dunmer said.

“May Kynareth guard you while you pass through her realm”, Balgruuf added.

“Jarl Balgruuf, if the gods are kind enough, we might see each other again”, she replied, putting her helmet on, “If not, I pray that Shor and Kyne will guide Whiterun and protect her people. Amativ Odahviing!”

Amativ”, the dragon rumbled, “Mu bo kotin stinselak.”

With a mighty jump, the dragon hauled them both into the air. The wind whistled in her ears as Skyrim flew by past them. Holding onto his horns for support, Ylva looked back, seeing Dragonsreach and Whiterun disappear quickly behind him as the wind whistled in her ears. Would she ever see it again?

Willing herself to focus on the task before her, she turned back. In the distant, the Velothi Mountains grew larger. Under them, she saw the White River rush past as they entered into Eastmarch, passing by the Throat of the World. She knew Paarthurnax would be watching the skies. Would she disappoint him? Would she disappoint Tamriel and Akatosh?

Her thoughts now circled only around one thing. Alduin. She would kill him now, no matter the cost. She had nothing more to lose.


	68. Skuldafn

Ylva stumbled into a small empty room to the after a long set of stairs, quickly shutting the heavy iron door behind her. Quickly looking around, she found an ancient greatsword. Dashing forward, she used it to block the door. Testing the door, she was confident that it would hold, should she have missed any of the draugr in this tomb.

Utterly exhausted, she sat down to take a moment to breathe. Her body was aching from head to toe. From the moment she had landed with Odahviing, she had battled herself through waves of powerful draugr. She even had to fight two dragons. Their souls now rested within her, as did their strength. Pulling her helmet off, she wiped sweat, dirt, and blood from her brow. Some of it came from the dragons and draugr, most came from herself. How many healing potions she had used to this point was a mystery to her. She had lost track while trying to get through the waves of enemies without dying.

She had come so close several times. Numerous arrows had tried to pierce through her, sharp teeth, scale and claws had wanted to bite into her skin. Somehow, she was still standing. How exactly, only the gods would be able to tell. She was so tired, tired and cold. Giving her surroundings a glance, she saw several linen wrappings and a broken table lying in one corner of her small refuge. Forcing her aching muscles to obey, she went over, breaking off one of the legs of the table and gathering a few of the wrappings.

One of the walls had an opening, maybe this had been used as an old fireplace some Millenia ago. Tossing her findings into it, she lit them with her Thu’um. The flames quickly devoured the linen and then caught on to the dry table leg. Knowing that the leg would only burn for so long, Ylva went back over to the table, cutting more wood using her ax. Once she had a nice amount of wood piled up and burning in the old fireplace, she unrolled her bedroll on the stone floor next to it.

Resting her head against the wall, she tried to come to term with the events of the last hours. Two more dragon souls rested in her chest. Just a few steps from where she was, she had stumbled over a World Wall. The word STRUN – Storm - had been calling her. Because the call was so strong, she had noticed the draugr too late. The blow he had dealt to her shoulder had been bone shattering.

Her blood was still pulsing with the effect of the last restoration potion she had taken and her shoulder ached as the bones were slowly resetting themselves. She knew, that she would be no match for Alduin, should she continue like this. Her body was weak now, it needed rest. This small room seemed to have been put there by the gods themselves to aid her. If she stayed quiet and the door would hold, she might manage to get some sleep and much needed rest.

She still needed to reach the top layer of the large temple structure. How on Nirn had the ancient Nords even built this place? There was no road leading there, no way to get the people up except on the wings of a dragon, cutting the stones used for building out of the very mountains the temple sat upon. Maybe there once had been a path, back in the ancient days. Ylva shook her head. It was no use thinking about it. No matter how this had come to be, it didn’t matter. All she knew was that she needed to fight her way through it, reaching Alduin’s gate into Sovngarde.

Sovngarde. Fitting that the last battle would be there. At least her soul wouldn’t have a long way to go when she died. Was there a better way to go than to die a heroic death on Sovngarde anyway? Not like she had anything left to live for down on Nirn.

Bishop had abandoned her. Despite everything, he had once said to her, despite his promise to stay with her no matter what. She felt betrayed, hurt and angry. Even then, she could hardly blame him for it, could she? This was all too insane. She was absorbing dragon souls, literally absorbing them into her body. Like she was a fucking soul gem. Then this whole prophecy, putting the fate of the world in her hands. Traveling through time using a bloody elder scroll. Who in his right mind would even think this was possible? But all that had happened. And now she was here, brought here by a dragon, fighting her way to the gate into Sovngarde.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Maybe she was insane. Maybe the gods had planned for all this, just keeping her together till her purpose is fulfilled. Well, she probably wouldn’t return anyway, so what did it matter?

Sighing, she laid down on her bedroll, not bothering to crawl under it or daring to remove any armor. Placing her axes next to either side of her, she closed her eyes and listened for any suspicious sounds.

 

Ylva didn’t realize she had drifted off to sleep when she woke again to the sudden urge to vomit. Quickly turning and getting on all fours, she managed to keep her equipment clean as she retched up the contents of her stomach. Once the urge had passed, she sighed and leaned back. When would that finally stop? Looking over to the fire, she saw that the logs she had placed in there were almost spent. She must have slept for several hours. Damn, she better had to continue forward. By now the rest of Alduin’s followers probably were waiting on her on the other side of the barred door.

Holding her breath, she listened to her surroundings. Besides the cracking of the embers and the distant whistle of the wind blowing in from outside, she couldn’t hear anything.  That didn’t mean there weren’t any draugr there. The undead didn’t breathe and could stand in silence for ages, unmoving and unblinking. Well, they hadn’t tried to break into her refuge, so she might as well regain her strength and eat something to wash that disgusting taste out of her mouth.

With some bread and cheese in her belly, she quickly packed up, readying herself for whatever was waiting on the other side of the door. Removing the greatsword and carefully opening the door, Ylva was surprised to find no enemies awaiting her. Had she really taken care of all the draugr in the tomb? Not trusting the peace, she kept her guard up as she continued onward.

Pushing open another door, she stumbled into the cold night air of Skyrim. Looking up, the moons shining bright in the nightly sky. They were moving fast towards dawn. How long had she been out? There was no time to linger on the thought as she heard the familiar growl of a draugr from her left.

Bringing up her axes in time, she blocked the greatsword aiming for her head.

“YOL TOR!”

Screeching as the flames engulfed it, the draugr sprung back. Quickly, she shot forward, letting her axes dig into the living corpse. The blue glowing eyes went dim as the draugr sank lifeless to the floor.

Putting her foot on its head, she yanked her axes free, continuing on her way. She had to be close to that gate, the ear-deafening thundering from somewhere close by left her no doubt.

Circling around a bend she reached another set of stairs with several draugr waiting for her. Well fuck. On a hunch, she turned to the sky: “STRUN!”

Kyne obeyed her call. The clouds suddenly turned dark and lightning cracked the sky. Within seconds, the whole plateau shuddered with the impact of several lightning strikes. Ylva dashed forward, digging her axes into the confused draugrs closest to her. With a powerful swing, she decapitated the first. Whirling around, she used her momentum to drive her axes deep into the chest of the second.

Kicking at the corpse, she pulled her blade free. The thunderstorm was letting up now, but Kyne had done well. Two of the remaining draugr had been hit, turning them into ashes. Now there was only one enemy left.

It was something she hadn’t seen before. The creature was floating in the air, hovering above a platform, overseeing a big hole in the ground. The deafening sound came from there. Was that the gate to Sovngarde?

As she approached it, it pulled a staff from a socket in the ground. With a rumbling that even drowned out the thunder above them, the gateway on the ground closed. The staff must be the key to the gate. If that being was guarding it, maybe it was one of the priests that had served the dragons back in the day?

Gripping the handles tightly, she charged forward. The dragon priest avoided her first attack, but the second one hit its shoulder with a tell-tale crunch. The creature screeched in fury. Its left hand suddenly turned blue as it called forth lightning magic. Too close to dodge the attack, her teeth clenched shut as the spasms ran through her body. Curse these bloody magic users!

The priest floated away, getting some space between it and her dangerous axes. Once the spasms were letting up, she dashed after him. The priest clad itself in flames, pulling them around it like a cloak.

“Oh, you want fire?”, she growled, “Have it then! YOL TOR SHUL!”

Her fire spilled from her mouth, bursting through the magic cloak. With her fire scorching the priest’s skin, she jumped through the fire, letting her ax dig deep into its stomach. Her other ax cut deep into the small gap at the neck. The magic was dispelled as life left the priest and he turned to ash, just leaving his mask and his staff behind.

Panting to catch her breath, she looked around. There were no enemies left anymore. Good. Picking up the mask she saw a glimmer move over it. It was enchanted. Maybe she could get Farengar to figure it out? Stuffing it in her backpack, she took a look at the staff. It didn’t look too special. But whatever properties it had, she didn’t care. This was the key to Alduin’s gateway into Sovngarde, her way in.

Holstering her axes, she took it back to the platform. On its floor was an intricate pattern, similar to the tiles that had locked the gateway. In its center was a small dent. Taking the staff, she slid the end in. With a turn, it locked in place. With the staff restored, the ear-deafening rumble set back in. The tiles in front of the platform moved away and with blue and yellow light broke through. From her spot, Ylva could feel the strong pull forward. The way was open to her now. Taking a deep breath, she jumped into the light.

 

Light wrapped itself around her, pulling her down. She gave in to the pull, closing her eyes. Warmth climbed up her body as if she had been submerged in a nice warm bath. Calmness washed over her and the tightness in her chest eased. This wasn’t like her journey through the past. It was not a struggle against the currents of time. It was like a warm embrace, a warm welcome after a long journey. Was this what awaited a Nord upon meeting his end? If so, she wouldn’t mind death.

Ylva couldn’t say for how long it lasted. When she finally felt a hard surface under her feet, she opened her eyes. For a moment she just stared in awe. Before her lay a vast valley guarded by mountains to either side. She stood on a step looking down a long winding pathway into the valley. The path was framed from either side by tall statues. They showed hooded figures. Looking at them she had the feeling they were watching her, like a parent watching over their child as it discovered the world.

There was heavy mist gathering in the valley. Muffled cries of terror cut through the silence. Alduin was close, she could feel it in her bones. Resting her hands on her axes she took a deep breath and started walking. She was ready for it, ready as she would ever be.

Soon, she was surrounded by mist. Only able to see a few steps ahead, she kept her guard up. Alduin could try and come for her any moment. But he didn’t. Maybe he was afraid? Afraid that he was still too weak against her? She didn’t dare to hope it.

Suddenly, she saw the figure of a man coming towards her. He looked vaguely familiar. As they got closer, she saw that he was clad in Stormcloak armor and it hit her. This was one of the very soldiers she had faced at the Siege on Whiterun. Guilt-ridden, she looked away.

“Turn back, Dragonborn!”, the soldier called out, “Terror awaits in the mist!”

He had recognized her. Though, it probably was hard not to. She wore the same armor that had clad her during that battle. And only a few wore an armor out of dragon bone.

“Many have braved the shadowed vale, but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way”, he continued.

“Why are you warning me?”, she finally found her voice again, “After what I’ve done to you?”

“You did what any true Nord would have done”, the soldier replied, “My heart knows no anger over this. That’s why I must warn you, not to try the mist.”

“What is this mist?”, she asked.

“I do not know”, he sighed, “But none have passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable huts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley.”

“If Shor is with us, Alduin will die today”, she insured him with more courage than she actually had.

“Can you lead the way to where Shor’s hall waits?”, the soldier begged.

“I saw it”, Ylva remembered the shadow of a large building towards the end of the valley, “It’s at the far end of the valley from here.”

“When I first started on this path, I saw it too”, a smile passed over the Stormcloak’s face, “The pain and fear vanished. Shor’s hall shimmered across the clouded vale. But in this mist, I’ve lost the way and wander blindly.”

“Come with me then”, she suggested, “Follow me to the hall.”

“I fear the mist. Go and hurry! Bring word to Shor’s hall about our fate”, the soldier begged.

“I will. Move up the path and hide at the entrance. Whatever souls will come, do not let them walk the path to the hall until I’ve completed my purpose”, she sent him off into the other direction.

Looking him disappear into the mist there, she prayed that he might make it. More cries could be heard as Alduin sated his hunger. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to haste. As fast as she could she ran down the pathway. The faster she was, the more souls she could spare. Shades of other souls passed her by, but none of them called out. She shouted for them to follow her, but by whatever magic was at work, her voice couldn’t reach them.

Suddenly, the mist started to clear around her. Stopping, she looked up in awe. Before her, she saw the Hall of Valor in all its glory. It was on the other side of a bridge. No, not a bridge but the spine of a monstrous whale. Was this one of the ancient creatures, said to haunt the coasts of Atmora? Guarding the entrance stood a giant of a man. As she came close her approached her.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor’s gift to honored dead?”, he asked in a deep baritone.

“I peruse Alduin, the World Eater”, she answered.

“A fateful errand”, the warrior nodded, “No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught - perhaps, deep counseled, your doom he foresaw.”

“Who are you?”, she asked. The old myths hadn’t said anything about a guardian.

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor”, he explained, “The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall were welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor.”

“I am honored to stand before you shield-thane”, she bowed deeply, “I come to fulfill my purpose here. For that, I need entrance to the Hall of Valor.”

“No shade are you, as usual here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?”, he asked.

“I am Ylva of the Twice-Named clan, Harbinger of the Companions and Dragonborn”, she straightened her shoulders.

“I welcome the chance to challenge the blade of Ysgramor’s heir”, he grinned, “And it’s even rarer to face a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. You are the honored shield-sister of Kodlak Whitemane whom I’ve watched for in vain.”

Her chest tightened dangerously. Had Alduin devoured him already? The terror must have shown on her face, as Tsun added: “I trust he has sought shelter in Ysgramor’s tomb with those Harbingers forsaken the right of passage into Sovngarde.”

“May Talos and Shor protect him”, she prayed.

“Living or dead”, the guardian continued, “By decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test.”

“My axes are ready for your test”, she nodded her hands already at her sides.

Tsun reached for the handle of his weapon. It was a large greatax like the ancient Nords and Atmorans used to have. Rolling her shoulders, she waited for his first attack. He was tall, almost two and a half head taller than she was. Many training sessions with her brothers made her all too aware that tall didn’t mean slow. And if every hero needed to battle him before entering Shor’s great hall, he would have been crossing blades with the best of the best.

The first swing came down hard and fast. Ylva dove under the swing, ramming one of the axes handles deep into the big guardian’s rips. The giant didn’t even flinch, despite his armor only reaching as far as his midriff. Instead, he kicked his thigh up, knocking all air out of her as his armored knee struck her in her side. Her dragon armor protected her from most of the damage, but she would bruise nonetheless.

“FUS RO DAH!”

With the Elemental Force, she drove him back from her, giving her time to regain her strength, even just for a moment.

“I see you have been well trained”, Tsun smiled, “But you are not the only one with the power of the Voice.”

His own Thu’um cut through the air. Reacting instinctively, she cried: “WHULD!”

Just in time, the Whirlwind Sprint brought her to safety. Oh well, she should have expected this. She would need to fight him with all she had. Storming towards him from the left, she ducked below another swing of his mighty ax. Just as she was within reach, she shouted again.

“SU!”

With the speed of the wind on her side, she danced through the air, slashing at the giant with her blades, drawing blood and dealing bruises. Tsun grunted in pain. His knee rose for another strike aimed at her belly, but this time she was quicker. Sidestepping, she dropped an ax to grab his arm. With one leg up in the air, his balance was off. With all her might she yanked on his arm. His own momentum and her strength were enough to make him lose his balance altogether, making him fall over. He nearly buried her under him, had she not called upon the Whirlwind Sprint a second time. Not giving him a chance to recover, she held the other ax to his exposed neck.

 “Do you yield?”, she asked, breathing heavily.

“I yield”, Tsun nodded.

Holstering her weapon, she held out her hand to help him back up. As he got back to his feet, his wounds began to heal. This must be Shor’s blessing at work.

“You’ve passed the warriors test”, he proclaimed, “You may pass the Whalebone bridge.”

“Thank you Tsun”, she bowed respectfully.

Picking up her other ax, she turned to the bridge. A dragon’s roar in the mist made her wince. There was no time to waste! Dashing over the slippery bones, she didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare slow down. Keeping her eyes fixed on the large doors waiting for her on the other side, she continued, even when her feet slipped several times. As her foot landed on hard ground again, she nearly flew up the few steps to the golden doors. Pushing it open with the weight of her shoulder, she stumbled into the Hall of Valor.


	69. Sovngarde

Pushing open the door, a wave of warmth and the tasty smell of beef roasted over an open flame washed over her. Beams of golden light shone into her eyes and she had to blink several times to let her eyes adjust to the new surroundings. For a moment she felt overwhelmed by the flood of impressions as she looked around. She stood in the doorway, several stairs leading down to a long banquet table. The banquet surrounded several hearths over which large oxes were being roasted on skewers. She felt her stomach grumble as she caught another whiff of the mouth-watering scent.

There were hundreds of souls gathered, eating, drinking and enjoying themselves. Songs echoed from the high pillars that disappeared somewhere into the ceiling she couldn’t even make out, as did the clashing of steel and the grunts from the right corner of the room. People were testing their skills against each other in sparring matches, others danced and jested. There were so many, that it was hard to make out any faces at all.

A weird feeling of coming home overwhelmed her. She felt as if she was walking into the great mead hall after a long day of training and adventuring, to find her family sitting at the table, greeting her with joyful cheering. Tears burned in the corner of her eyes. Was this was awaited the great heroes at the end of their days? Endless days and nights of jesting, of laughter and joy? Finding a place where your standing was simply determined by the fire in your heart and not by the coin you carry or the family you’ve been born into?

Ylva must have stood still for quite some time, moved by the sight in front of her. Someone must have noticed her standing in the doorway. A murmur went through the gathered souls as faces turned towards her. The whispered name grew louder and louder, till she finally made out the words. “Dragonborn.”

Suddenly, with a startling roar, the crowd began to cheer.

“She’s here!”

“The Dragonborn has arrived!”

“Join us, Dragonborn! Come down and join us!”

Some waved, beckoning her to come down. Other’s clapped each other on the shoulders.

“Told you today will be the day! You owe me now, brother!”

“No, you told me she’d take till tomorrow. You owe me!”

“Come down, Dragonborn! Let’s have some mead!”

The sudden attention stunned her. What was going on? Why were they welcoming her like an old friend, like one of their own? What in the world had she done to be worthy of such a warm welcome? She hadn’t yet slain the World-Eater, had not yet proven her worth to the gods.

Remembering that she had entered the hall to find help for the lost souls wandering outside, she descended the stairs. Her heart was pounding as her eyes wandered from face to face. Would they help her in her cause? Would they dare Alduin’s mist?

“I welcome you, Dragonborn!”, a deep thundering voice caught her attention. It belonged to a man standing at least a head taller than most of the ghosts in the hall. He was clad in ancient Nord armor, the handle of a greatax or warhammer peaking over his left shoulder. The man pushed through the crowd that quickly made way for him. Whoever he was, he must be someone of great importance.

As he finally stood face to face with her a realization dawned on her. The handle on his back, it looked vaguely familiar. No, not just vaguely. She remembered the feel of the heavy steel in her hands, the heaviness as she had carried it on her back on the long journey to Winterhold and beyond.

Pulling off her helmet, she dropped down to one knee and bowed her head.

“Great Harbinger!”, she whispered in awe, not daring to call the great Atmoran by his given name.

“Rise, Ylva, daughter of the Twice-Named Clan”, Ysgramor chuckled bemused, “For you have earned that title as much as I once did.”

“How could I compare myself to you?”, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, “You have always been the greatest of us all, the first Harbinger and truest of Companions.”

“Have you not fought alongside Shield-Sisters and Brothers? Have you not sworn your axes to protect Skyrim, no matter the costs? How can my heart beat truer as yours then?”, he shook his head, “If you will not let me hail you as Harbinger, there is another title that I can hail you with. Rise, Ysmir! Rise, Dragon of the North!”

Obeying his call, Ylva rose to her feet and looked up. Despite her being one of the tallest women she knew, he easily stood two heads taller than her. His eyes shone warmly down on her.

“Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set out his soul-snare here”, Ysgramor explained, “By Shor’s command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale’s dark mist.”

“Shor was wisely counseled”, Ylva replied, “Alduin has been feeding on the souls. More will be devoured by the second. I need to face him in battle.”

“Your heart beats true. Many would gladly join your cause, were it not for Shor’s ruling”, the Atmoran shook his head, “Only but three will join you. The three await your word to lose their fury upon the perilous foe.”

A grin spread over the bearded face as the names rolled off his tongue: “Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the names. Gormlaith, Hakon and Felldir. She had seen them once, had seen Gormlaith’s last hour. Had witnessed their triumph over the World-Eater. She would have the Tongues fight alongside her? Maybe there was hope after all.

“The three await your word at the far end of the hall”, Ysgramor smiled warmly again, “Go now, daughter of Skyrim.”

“I thank you, Harbinger”, she couldn’t help but bow in respect, “I will do everything in my power, I swear it on my honor. If the gods are kind, the mist will soon be gone.”

“We shall all pray to Shor that he guides your axes on this day”, a shadow passed over the great leaders face, “In sake of all the souls we long await, do not fail. Not the brave soldiers that died in this terrible war, nor Kodlak. He has earned his place here and does not deserve to fall prey to Alduin’s insatiable hunger.”

Flinching at the mention of Kodlak, she averted his gaze: “May the gods have mercy.”

“Go now, Ysmir!”, he waved his hand, making the crowd open a path for her, “We will look for your return!”

Bowing a final time, she turned towards the path. Straightening her back she walked through the crowd. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, but she didn’t let it show on her face. These were the heroes of Sovngarde, these were the great warriors that Shor himself had deemed worthy to dine at his table. And how could she be fearing death if she now knew exactly what awaited her? How could she not be thrilled to join them at Shor’s table?

With each step further, her courage grew. With every new face grinning broadly as she passed by, she felt more at peace. There was nothing to fear. If death would take her, she would be welcomed back into the hall. The fire in her chest grew stronger again. This was what she had been born to do. And by Talos, she’d best that bastard dragon and kill him once and for all!

 

The hall came to an end and she saw three familiar faces looking back at her. Eager to meet them, she rushed forward.

“At long last!”, Gormlaith greeted her with a wide grin, “Alduin’s doom is now ours to seal!”

The blond-haired woman placed both hands on Ylva’s shoulder, beaming at her, “Just speak the word and with high hearts, we will hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks!”

“Hold, comrades! Let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined”, Felldir warned, “Alduin's mist is more than a snare - its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle.”

“Felldir speaks wisdom. The World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn”, Hakon winked at her, “We must drive away his mist, shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe.”

“I am deeply honored to have you fight at my side”, Ylva smiled at them, “To draw weapons with the ones that defended Skyrim in her darkest hour is more than I could have ever asked for.”

“We are just as honored, Ylva of Dragonkin”, Hakon replied, “From the Golden Hall we have watched your journey. You have shown great strength of will and body. It is we that are honored to fight alongside the hero that has defeated Alduin in open battle.”

“To battle, my friends!”, Gormlaith called on them, “The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted!”

“TO BATTLE!”, the other echoed, drawing weapons. The hall was filled with the thunder of hundreds of voices roaring in unison.

Letting her voice join the others, Ylva felt power surge through her body. She had never felt this strong a rush before battle. Every fiber in her body was ready, all tiredness and hunger she had felt just a moment ago had been washed away. Her blood was pulsing in her veins, every hair on her body stood erect as if she had been struck by lightning.

Jumping into motion, she rushed forward, the trio following close behind her. With the roaring of the Hall of Valor, all their wishes and trust laying with them, they pushed open the doors and dashed over the Whalebone Bridge.

As they passed the guardian, she heard Tsun call after them: “The eyes of Shor are upon you this day. Defeat Alduin and destroy this soul-snare!”

The rush of battle pulsed in her veins. Her senses were grown sharp. She smelled the cold watery mist, tasted iron and death on her tongue. Standing on the foot of the stairs, just below the Whalebone Bridge, they were just at the edge of the soul-snare that Alduin had laid out.

“We cannot fight this foe in this mist!”, Felldir shouted, the mist sucking up all sounds.

“Clear Skies!”, Gormlaith answered, “Combine our shouts!”

Taking a deep breath, tasting the mist on her tongue, Ylva readied herself.

“LOK VAH KOOR!”

Four voices echoed in the vale. For a moment, the mist faded, revealing the small hill in the middle of the vale. Seeing their Thu’um break the soul-snare brought a wide grin to her lips. Their united voices were more powerful than whatever magic Alduin had deployed.

The grin froze in place as a deep thundering called out: “VEN MUL RIIK!”

The mist spilled forth like the waves on the Sea of Ghosts, swallowing up grass, rock, and hill in an instant.

“Again!”, Gormlaith’s spirit wasn’t dampened by the setback.

“We _can_ shatter his power if we shout together!”, Felldir encouraged them.

“LOK VAH KOOR!”

Again, the Thu’um thundered through the vale, dispelling the mist. The sky opened up, revealing a myriad of stars. Auroras painted the sky in green and violet colors. What beauty had lain hidden through Alduin’s trap?

“VEN MUL RIIK!”

For a second time, the soul-snare retook the valley, covering the stars and taking away their beauty. Ylva grew angrier by the second. How could the World-Eater dare to befoul Shor’s Realm?

“Does his strength have no end?”, Hakon growled, “Is our struggle in vain?”

“Stand fast!”, Gormlaith called to her brother, “His strength is failing. Once more and his might will be broken!”

Indeed, the mist wasn’t as thick as it had been when Ylva had first entered Sovngarde. They had to try.

“Again, and we break his grim hold over Shor’s Realm”, Felldir agreed, “and redeem it for eternity!”

A final time, Clear Skies cut through the soul-snare, driving it away. And this time, it held. A loud thunder erupted and the earth shook. No, it wasn’t thunder, but a cry of frustration.

“The endless wait gives way to battle!”, Gormlaith cheered, “Alduin’s doom, his death or ours!”

She heard him before she saw him. The flapping of the big wings heralded the arrival of the black monster. Looking up, she saw him flying over them, his blood-red eye fixed on her. Their last battle had left deep marks on him. The scales on the left side of his body had been melted together, costing him an eye. She held his gaze as she put her helmet on her head.

“Dovahkiin!”, he roared, “You should not have come here. Nu hin sil dii!”

“Hi hind!”, she answered, “Daar sul fen kos hin oblaan, ni dii!”

“We have to bring him down!”, Hakon shouted.

Gritting her teeth, she readied herself. As much as she hated the Thu’um, it had proven the only way to best the beast.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

The dragon souls within her screeched in agony as the blue flames shot from her mouth. The black beast tried to dodge them, but with his body scarred as it was, he couldn’t get away in time. With the pull of mortality binding him, he crashed down before them.

“Well done!”, Gormlaith sprung forward.

Her brother was right behind her. Fire spilled from their mouths as they shouted in unison. Setting her own body in motion, she went around to attack the dragon from his blind side, while he was distracted by the Tongues.

Lightning flashed over his scales as Felldir joined the battle. Alduin roared in pain, throwing his wings back to fight off the siblings. With that, his neck was completely exposed. Acting quickly, she breathed “SU” using the Elemental Fury to drive her axes deep into his flesh. Alduin roared in pain, thrashing with his wings and shaking his head. Determined to not be shaken off, Ylva jumped, landing on top the scaly neck.

“You are persistent, Dovahkiin”, Alduin growled, “Pruzah ol aar. A fine slave you would have made.”

Looking into the sky, he unleashed a blood-curdling roar. The sky cracked as burning meteors struck down upon them.

“You will never best me, worm!”, she breathed through gritted teeth.

“Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar”, Alduin answered, “I have already defeated your friends once. Beyn. I do not fear them.”

“But you did not defeat me!”, she ripped an ax free only to let it dig deep into the wound again. The dragon roared and shook.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!”

Hakon renewed the binding, engulfing both her and the World-Eater. As the blue flames hit her, she cried out in pain. The Thu’um cut through every bone and every nerve in her body, making her vision blur for a moment. If it weren’t for the ax handles giving her something to hold on, she might have fallen off. Shaking her head to clear it, she tasted blood in her mouth. Shit. Was her dragon-soul also affected by the Shout? 

Holding on with one hand, her shaking fingers fumbled for a potion. The bitter taste washed the blood from her mouth and slowly restored her. A rumble passed through the neck she was still sitting on and the hairs at the back of her neck stood up.

“You are growing weak, Dovahkiin!”, Alduin laughed hatefully, “Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki!”

“Zu’u los mul ol hi mindol!”, she shouted back, “STRUN!”

A deep rumble passed through the vale as Kyne pushed away the fiery rain, unleashing her fury with lightning upon the black beast. Freeing her axes, Ylva jumped down from the dragon, as he roared in pain from Kyne’s fury moving through him. She knew the storm wouldn’t last long.

“Dragonborn!”, Hakon suddenly appeared next to her, “Let’s unite our shouts! He should bathe in fire!”

Nodding, she joined up with him, facing Alduin head-on. Ylva knew, that she had to unleash all her fury, put all her power in this shout. Closing her eyes for a moment, she called upon the memory of Bishop’s lifeless laying in the snow. Of how he left her at Dragonsreach. She called upon all her anger. Her hands clenching her axes that her knuckles stood out white under her gauntlets, she felt the fire burning in her chest.

“NOW!”, Hakon cried.

“YOL TOR SHUL!”

Fire poured forward as if they had called upon the power of the Red Mountain itself. The anger turned into liquid power. She felt her skin burn, felt her lips crack and bleed and blisters bursting open all over her. Still, she kept going. Nothing should be left from him, not one single drop of blood. She’d cauterize him from the face of Nirn like the healers would cauterize an infected wound. Alduin screeched in pain, but his cries were lost in the roar of the combined Thu’um.

With her lungs screaming for air her flames ran out. Would it not have been for Hakon quickly gripping her arm, she might have fallen over.

“Hold fast, Dragonborn”, he softly shook her, keeping her in the here and now, “The worm is not yet defeated.”

He was right. Alduin was still alive. How, only the gods would know. His neck was steaming and black drops fell to the ground as if his scales had melted completely. His right wing had been reduced to burned bones. His jaw hung open, revealing sharp teeth were his skin had melted away.

“Zu'u Alduin”, he breathed heavily, “zok sahrot do naan ko Lein.”

“You are nothing more than a weak worm now”, Ylva gave back, “Nu hi dir.”

“For Skyrim!”, Gormlaith cried, “For Shor! For Sovngarde’s freedom!”

Her blade cut into the scorched flesh where the wing had once been. Alduin roared in pain. Twisting his hurt neck, he tried to dig his sharp teeth into her. His gaze had turned blind, and no matter how much he tried, he missed the warrior time and time again.

His end was nearing, Ylva could feel it in her bones. Forcing her hurting body forward, she ducked under the fiercely turning head. She needed to drive her axes in deep, cutting through his spine and ending his rule of terror.

Calling on the last of her strength, she swung her axes. The flesh of his neck had been left open, her blades cutting deep into the throat. Blood streamed over her arms. Still, she pushed on. Alduin’s roar turned into a wheeze as she sliced through his windpipe. A big tremor went through the beast as his life gushed out, soaking her and the ground.

Suddenly, it stopped. Ylva yanked her ax upward and free from the beast’ flesh. Panting heavily, she stumbled backward. The dragon didn’t move. She couldn’t feel any life from it anymore. But unlike the other dragon’s she had slain, she didn’t feel the familiar tug of her absorbing its soul.

Was he still alive? After all this? His neck was shredded to pieces, his blood staining the ground. How was he not burning away? In shock, she observed the body suddenly standing up. What in the Hells of Oblivion was happening?

Light engulfed the dragon’s body. Golden light, the color of souls. Ylva watched in horror, as the light grew stronger. With a boom that threatened to shatter her eardrums, Alduin exploded. As close as she was to the beast, she was pushed back, flying through the air.

As her body hit the floor, the world grew dark around her.


	70. A Day of Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the battle with Alduin, Ylva has a chance to celebrate her victory before heading back to Nirn.

Pain throbbed through her head. Had she passed out?  Her head was still swimming and the pain made it hard to focus on anything. Where was she anyway? She was laying on the ground, hard ground. Letting her hands wander, she felt that she wasn’t laying in the grass like she had thought she would. Instead, it was hard and cold beneath her touch. Stone maybe? Another wave of pain washed through her head, making her see stars behind closed lids. Groaning, she let it pass. Well, if she was hurting, did that at least mean she was still alive?

There where voices close by. Was someone talking? Her hearing was only slowly coming back. It felt like she was waking from a very deep sleep and her senses were not yet stirring with her. Footsteps came closer and fast. Something or more likely someone was dropping down next to her. A hand wiggled underneath her head and lifted it up. She didn’t fight it. Something was telling her she was not in danger.

“Hey”, someone stroked her cheek. The fingertips on her skin were rough, used to either hard work or weapon training. A very familiar smell filled her nose, but she couldn’t tell why it was so familiar.

Her eyes fluttered open, but the light sent another wave of pain through her head. Moaning, she tried to lift her arm to block the light.

“Sh”, the soothing voice said, “It’s gonna be alright furball.”

Instantly, the pain was forgotten. She knew that voice; knew it from the depths of her heart. Like a puzzle, all the pieces suddenly fit together. Could it be? Almost jolting upright, she blinked several times to let her eyes adjust.

“Dad?”, she asked, her voice cracking as her vision cleared.

Hazel eyes, identical to her own, looked back at her. A smile spread over the weathered and tanned face, chasing away the worried wrinkles on the forehead, smoothing the red paint covering it. He looked exactly how he did when they last saw each other. His imperial knight armor shone as if freshly polished, spotless as he had always kept it. She remembered how meticulously he had cleaned it every time he had come home. When it was given to her with the rest of his few private things after he had been killed, she had done the same, crying while she rubbed at the stains on the steel.

“Yes, furball”, her father’s eyes were shimmering wet, “It’s me.”

“Dad!”, she cried as she leaped up, nearly toppling the both of them over. Her own tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks.

“I thought I’d never see you again”, she sniveled, “Thank the gods you’re safe!”

“All thanks to you”, he wrapped his arms tightly around her and kissed the crown of her head, “Because you’ve been so brave. You did amazing, furball. I’m so proud.”

Ylva had no words as she clung to her father. All the emotions she had felt in the last days, all the terror, the fear and the tension, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Muffling her sobs in the folds of his cape, she cried. Haldor held her, softly rocking back and forth as he let his fingers run through her hair, just like he had done when she had been a little girl.

“It’s all good, furball”, he whispered, “Everything will be fine now. You are here, and you are still alive. Talos be praised, you are still alive.”

He sounded strangely chocked on the last words and without looking, she knew that tears were streaming down his face as much as they did her own.

“I was so scared I’d lose you, my little sunshine”, he placed another kiss on her head, “Scared and angry at the gods that they could be so cruel to my little girl, my furball. The world could have ended if just you’d be spared all this.”

“Dad”, she breathed, pulling back enough to see his face, “Have I really…is…is Alduin…?”

“It is done, furball”, he said again, “You slew Alduin and saved us all.”

She didn’t know how to feel. Relieved? Happy? Completed? Yet all she felt was emptiness. She had done what she had been born to do, but what now? What was there to live for now? Maybe if Bishop was still with her…the thought alone brought new tears to her eyes. No, he was not there anymore. She was alone again.

Her father must have seen the different emotions chase each other across her face. Wiping away his tears and then hers, he kissed her crown again.

“Come, Ylva”, he managed a smile, “Everybody is waiting for you. Leave worry and trouble behind you. Today is a day of feasting and celebration!”

He offered his hand to pull her up to her feet. She took it but as she came to stand, the pain in her head exploded again, making her cling to him while the world around her went dark.

“A healer!”, her father yelled, holding on to her so she wouldn’t fall, “Get a healer over here! She’s sick!”

“Ugh”, she groaned, feeling nauseous.

More footsteps came closer – probably a healer or more.

“Set her down on the bench!”, someone called out.

“No, not sitting! Lay her on the bench again!”, another argued, “Who even allowed her to stand?”

Like a swarm of flies surrounding a carcass in the wild, they were surrounded by people. Hands reached out and ushered her in one direction or another. With panic rising in her she saw her father being pushed back into the crowd. No! She reached out to grab his hand, but her fingers only wiped through the air as she was being dragged away. The pain in her head mixed with the panic in her chest made her almost blackout again. Clenching her teeth, she stood still, ignoring the dragging on her arms.

“Enough”, she growled, wanting people to let her go. When they still pushed and tried to lead her away, she thundered: “ENOUGH!”

A small flame shot from her mouth, not enough to harm anyone but enough to make the crowd back off. Finally opening her eyes again, she looked into many worried faces.

“It’s alright”, a man in robes said, “We won’t hurt you. We were just wanting to help, Dovahkiin.”

“I can take care of it”, Ylva was already fumbling with her pouches. Two hands on either shoulder stopped her.

“Furball, I know you have become an expert at alchemy”, her father said, “But there’s nothing wrong with letting someone heal you with magic now and then. Come and sit down and let Shalidor heal you.”

Shalidor? Ylva’s eyes widened in amazement. She had heard tales of the great mage, the one that had shaped Labyrinthian and was said to have created Winterhold with just a whispered spell. While the Companions have steered away from magic, she knew that there have been several strong magic users in the old days. The Nords of today may have forgotten, but the tales of old were full of them. To meet him here, that was a great honor indeed.

With her resistance broken, her father pushed her back and forced her to sit down. His eyes were filled with worry and care for her. He moved behind her, his hands still resting on her shoulders. Having him near her was all she needed to stay calm. Her head was still swimming and the pain was cursing through her body. She leaned back and rested against her father to steady herself.

Shalidor kneeled down in front of her to be on eye level. With a critical look, he inspected her, then placed his hands on her temples. The hands felt warm. The mage mumbled an incantation. A warm and tingly sensation spread from his fingertips, slowly spreading over her head and down her spine. It felt different from Danica’s magic or any other healing she had received in her life. Something popped in the back of her neck, relieving the pain in her head. Her ribs, that she hadn’t realized that they had been cracked through her landing, were snapping back without any pain. In amazement, she felt her body mend without the usual pain of growing bones. Instead, it felt like she was just waking up from a long and deep sleep.

“Hm”, Shalidor wrinkled his forehead, “This is…peculiar.”

“What?”, Haldor asked before Ylva could open her mouth.

The mage pulled back. Stood up and scratched his chin in thought.

“I have never dealt with one blessed by Shor himself, but there seem to be multiple souls within her body. I can feel one filling her completely, then several more within her chest. And one more…”, he pointed towards her middle, “Here. Though I’m not sure what that could mean. Very peculiar indeed.”

Ylva blinked several times. What was the mage implying?

“Could it be the dragon souls?”, her father asked.

“Well”, Shalidor met her father’s gaze, “That would explain the ones in the chest I suppose. But for the other one, I’m not so sure.”

“Hah, that I would see the day where the great Shalidor himself would not know an answer”, a woman stepped forward, grinning, “Even your knowledge seems to have its limits, my dear colleague.”

“Gunborg”, the mage crossed his arms, “What would a battle maiden know about these matters? This is no mere wound of the flesh.”

“You may be talented in many of the Arcane arts, Shalidor”, she grinned, “But have you been out on the fields of war and in peoples home day in and out to heal them? Have you treated the sick as much as the wounded? I don’t think your studies would have allowed that. So, oh great mage, allow this meager battle maiden to take a look, will you?”

The mage reluctantly made room for the woman. Ylva shifted uneasily. Her father’s grip on her shoulders tightened. Looking up, he smiled at her, though the wrinkles on his forehead showed her just how worried he was.

“I am Gunborg Healing-Light”, the woman introduced herself, “Dragonborn, may I touch you?”

“Um…sure”, Ylva answered as her father gave her shoulder another light squeeze.

Gunborg gently touched Ylva’s neck and closed her eyes. A rush of warmth ran through Ylva, as the other woman used her magic to examine her. A smile spread over the healer’s face and the brown eyes popped open.

“Shalidor did a fine job healing you, Dragonborn”, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with you, you are just with child.”

“PREGNANT?”, Ylva and her father were both shouting at the same time.

“No, that can’t be…”, she continued, suddenly standing again.

“Oh, are you sure? Cause you are already several weeks in”, Gunborg smirked, “And that little life growing inside of you is no illusion. Nor is the sickness that you might have felt in the mornings.”

How could that have happened? They had been careful, haven’t they? She felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Oh no. It couldn’t be…but…thinking back, there may have been one or two occasions where she had not cared at all, where her lust had blinded her. And when her courses hadn’t come when they had been due, she had told herself it was the stress. And the sudden urge to vomit in the morning…she felt like she was going to be sick again. To the fucking hells of Oblivion! How could she have been so stupid?

“Ha! Seems my line is unbroken after all!”, a gray-haired warrior pushed through.

“Now your boasting will never end, will it, Tysnal?”, another man groaned.

“You know there is no end to my boasting, Jeek”, the warrior grinned, “How could I not take pride in the long line of warriors that I have fathered? A line of warriors all with the heart of a true Atmoran!”

Ylva realized, that this was Tysnal Twice-Named, her forebear and honored ancestor. Of course, if the great Harbinger Ysgramor was in the Hall of Valor, how could the original 500 not be here too?

“I’m sure the child will be no exception, not with its mother being who she is”, Tysnal smiled at her.

Lost for words, she nodded slowly.

“A grandchild”, her father wrapped an arm around her, focusing her attention back on him, “Ylva, that is really the greatest gift of all.”

“Is it?”, she finally found her voice and stole a glance at him, “With all this war going around? With as much blood on my hands as it is?”

Haldor laughed. “You have the same look in your eyes as your mother had back when she told me that she was carrying you.”

He turned her around and gathered her face in his large and rough hands.

“I’ll tell you now what I told her then: There will always be war, fighting, and death. But this child gives you something to _fight_ for”, he smiled, “It will show you that there are light and life in this world. That there’s reason to hope. You are our light, Ylva, your mother’s and mine. This child will be the same for you.”

She knew he spoke the truth. A child. She was going to be a mother? A storm of emotions whirled through her. There was disbelief, doubt she could do it and fear for the unborn child. How could she face the harsh world, knowing that she put not hers but her child’s life at risk? But there was also joy and a sense of purpose again. She was not alone anymore. A hand moved down to her belly, resting on her armor that protected her most precious treasure. Whatever the future would hold for her, she promised herself to be there for the child.

What about Bishop? He abandoned her; would he abandon his child too? She bit her lip. Should she seek him out and tell him? Would he even want to know? He had never been the committing type. Despite his promise to stay by her side, no matter what, he had left. The pain of his abandonment welled up in her again. No, maybe it was better this way, with him not knowing.

“Come, my furball! There’s so much to celebrate! And you need to eat”, her father kissed her forehead again, chasing away her dark thoughts, “You haven’t eaten anything since setting foot inside Sovngarde.”

“And you need sustenance”, Gunborg chimed in, “For the sake of your child. But no mead or ale for you! And no more healing potions either.”

Ylva looked from the healer to her father. Was this something she had to get used to now? Haldor smiled at his daughter and took her hand.

“Come now, sunshine”, he ushered her forward, “Let’s join the party.”

The festivities had already been going on for quite some time from the looks of it. The great hall was full of people eating, drinking and dancing. If the banquet tables weren’t made from stone, they might have bent under the weight of the many dishes covering it. As the smells of roasted beef and stew filled her nose, Ylva’s stomach began to grumble. She had not realized just how hungry she was. When was the last time she had eaten? Right, when she had woken up in the small chamber in Skuldafn. Several hours if not a complete day must have passed since then. Telling time in the ever-bright hall was almost impossible.

“Tonight, we are raising our cups to celebrate your defeat over Alduin World-Eater, Ylva”, Tysnal suddenly appeared to her other side with a wide grin on his face, “Revel in the glory of your victory!”

“Thank you…my honored ancestor”, she bowed her head, not sure how to address him properly.

“Honored ancestor? No need to hail me so, my dear child”, he flashed her an even wider grin, “It should be I to hail you by a title. In our home Atmora, my brother and I have been born low. Were it not for Jeek to call me onto his boat, there would never have been a Twice-Named clan.”

“Still, you fought alongside Ysgramor”, Ylva argued, “And without the crew of the Jorrvaskr, we would not have the Companions nor Whiterun as it is today.”

“It may be so”, Tysnal nodded, “But let us not dwell on these things tonight. These feats all pale in comparison to your victory over the World Eater. And I see there is a new arrival to meet also!”

“Kodlak!”, her father exclaimed as he recognized the old warrior, “Come furball, let’s go greet him.”

Together with her father at her side, Ylva rushed towards the big doors leading out into Sovngarde. The old Harbinger was still standing on top of the steps, looking around the room.

When he spotted Ylva and her father come up the stairs, his face lit up.

“Ah, two faces I know!”, Kodlak smiled.

“Gramps!”, Ylva hugged the old man, “Thank Talos Alduin didn’t get you.”

“I hid in Ysgramor’s tomb”, he replied to her, gently patting her back, “Until the Harbingers of old told me it was safe to come.”

“Welcome then, old friend”, Haldor greeted the old man, “We have waited for your arrival.”

“Haldor!”, Kodlak seemed happy to see his old friend, “It has been so long since we raised our mugs together!”

“That it has”, her father laughed, “Thank you, for taking such good care of my daughter.”

“My pleasure, old friend”, Kodlak smiled, “She has made us all proud. Especially her mother.”

“Was mum there too, Gramps?”, Ylva was yearning for word from her mother, “When you were hiding in the tomb?”

“She was, pup”, he turned to her, “She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she’s very proud. And I should tell you, Haldor, that she misses you greatly.”

“As do I”, a shadow passed over her father’s face, “But I wouldn’t love her if she wasn’t the wild wolf that she is.”

They were all silent for a while, each of them lost to their own thoughts. Ylva knew, that both of them had loved her mother from the bottom of their hearts. Bodil had bound all three of them together, but there was no jealousy here, only companionship.

Haldor was the first to break the silence. Wrapping an arm around both his daughter’s and his friend’s shoulders, he announced: “Come, there are so many people you should meet. I bet you don’t want to waste the opportunity to raise mugs with Ysgramor!”

 

The party lasted for several hours. Ylva met so many of the heroes she had read about in books, heard about in songs and been told about her elders, that she felt overwhelmed. And all of them had wanted to meet her and thank her for her deeds. Was she really this outstanding hero? Was she really on par with the heroes of her childhood? Seeing how easily her father talked to them and how much Kodlak enjoyed the company, she relaxed. At the end of the day, they all had a reason to be in Shor’s Hall. Each of them had earned their stay, that was enough to be greeted with friendship.

She didn’t know how much time had passed during the feast. It could have been mere hours or several days. Who knew? Eventually, the time came for her to go back to the land of the living.

Her father, Kodlak and the Tongues accompanied her when she turned her back to the Hall of Valor. Tsun was waiting for her on the other side of the Whalebone Bridge.

“I see you are well now, after your mighty deed. The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever”, the guardian nodded in respect, “But your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting.”

Like many times before in the hall, those surrounding her raised their voices: “All hail the Dragonborn! Hail her with great praise!”

 “Say your goodbyes, Dragonborn”, Tsun continued, “We will all await your return at the end of your days.”

A shudder ran down Ylva’s spine. This was it; she couldn’t postpone it any longer. The Tongues where the first to step forward.

“May your count of days on Nirn be long and happy, Dragonborn”, Felldir gave her shoulder a quick squeeze.

“May your blades never be dull and your cup never empty”, Hakon hugged her, giving her a pat on the back.

“We will be awaiting your return, Ylva of Dragonkin”, Gormlaith did the same as her brother, “Fare thee well!”

“I was honored to have you fight by my side. I will sing of your tale wherever in Skyrim I will go”, Ylva promised, “That your deeds won’t be forgotten again.”

“Don’t forget to sing of your own deeds too!”, Hakon laughed, “For those are greater than ours.”

“I agree, pup”, Kodlak said.

“I don’t care for boasting”, Ylva grimaced.

“This is far from boasting, pup”, the old warrior countered, “You have done much for Skyrim. Much more than you give yourself credit. Sing of your fights, or others will do it for you.”

Remembering the bard in Windhelm, she had to agree. Yes, better she herself wrote the stories and songs.

“I’ll miss you, Gramps”, she wrapped her arms around her grandfather, kissing his cheek.

“We will meet again, pup. Till then, do not dwell on the losses of your life. We will always be watching you from here”, he smiled at her, “Should your ache for us be too strong, we will always have Ysgramor’s tomb. Your mum and I will always meet you there.”

She felt her eyes prickle and she squeezed them shut, willing herself not to cry again. Kodlak held her for a moment longer, then he let her go with a warm smile on his face: “May Talos guide and protect you, pup.”

There was only one waiting for his turn to say his farewell.

“Furball”, her father’s deep voice almost made her lose her resolve not to cry, “I’m so happy I got to see you again.”

“Dad”, she whispered as she hugged him tightly, pressing her face into the folds of his cape, “I’ll miss you so much!”

“So will I”, he soothingly stroked her hair, “We didn’t get much time now, but when you return, we will have all eternity together. Go now, my sweet little furball, go now and live the life your mother and I had always wished for you. Promise me you’ll take good care of yourself and your child. You deserve to be happy as much as anybody else.”

“I will try”, she mumbled into the folds of his cape.

“I love you, my furball”, he kissed the crown of her head, “I always will.”

“And I love you dad”, she sniffled.

“It is time now, Dragonborn”, Tsun called on her.

Reluctantly stepping back from her dad, she turned to Shor’s chosen guardian: “I’m ready.”

“Return now to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need”, Tsun smiled, an expression that brought an uncharacteristic warmth to his stoic features.

He took a deep breath and with a final nod to her, he shouted: “NAHL DAAL VUS!”  
  
 _A new chapter, what?_ 😲  _I know, it's been too long since the last chapter. I was confronted with a major writing block. Finally this week I was able to finish this chapter. I hope you enjoy it and I do hope that I won't be making you wait as long for the next chapter_ 😔  
  
Thank you all for your support on this story and the kind comments. Since I did the last bits late tonight, there may still be some spelling errors hidden. If you find any, let me know 😉


	71. A Hero Returns

The carriage rolled over the cobbled stones leading up to the city. With mixed feelings, Ylva looked up at her home. It had been a little over a week ago, that she had left the city on the back of a dragon. Now, she returned not only with having defeated Alduin but making new allies. Odahviing and some other dragons have sworn fealty to her at the top of the Throat of the World.

Was she still the same person since her return? Wherever she had gone since then, people have treated her differently. She was not Ylva of the Twice-Named Clan anymore. Now she was hailed Ylva Dragonslayer, the hero of Skyrim. It seems like she had come down from the mountains not a human, but a living legend. Was this her future now? Would people forget that she too was mortal?

Now she was returning home. Would people her treat her the same, even though they had known her all her life? Would they just see the Dragonborn when they talked to her, or would she be welcomed as Ylva?

Finally reaching the stables of Whiterun, the carriage came to a halt. Sighing, Ylva stood up and jumped off. A whinny from the stable made her turn.

“Allie!”, she exclaimed happily as she saw her mare. Thanking the driver, she went over to greet her horse. The mare let out another whinny and pressed her big head against her chest.

“I missed you too”, Ylva gently patted the strong neck, “I didn’t mean to leave you here for that long.”

“I thought you’d arrive by a dragon”, a deep rumble to her side made her turn.

“Skulvar!”, she greeted the stable-master.

“Welcome home, girl”, he replied, “Allie here has been worried for you. Not just her though. The whole city was only talking about you since you rode off on that dragon.”

“Yeah, I can imagine”, she sighed, pulling some hay out of Allie’s mane, “But I’m back now.”

“Back and in one piece”, Skulvar shook his head, “You truly are something, Ylva. I heard they call you Dragonslayer now.”

She grimaced at the name: “Please don’t call me that.”

“Nah, I won’t”, the stable-master grinned, “You are our Ylva. I still remember the scrawny little girl that climbed onto the biggest horse she could find. I could never get you to ride that pony your dad wanted me to teach you riding on.”

“A pony is not fit for battle”, she smiled.

“True that”, Skulvar laughed, “Now you have even larger steads.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on riding a dragon again”, Ylva winked at him, “Allie’s still the best stead there is.”

Looking around the stable, she realized that Balo was not there.

“Did he ride off with Balo?”, she asked quietly.

“That ranger of yours?”, the raven-haired Nord’s eyes watched her keenly, “He wanted to return it to me first. When I refused, he rode off angrily.”

Ylva bit her lip, swallowing the question burning on her tongue. No, she had told herself not to go look for him. That it was better this way for all of them.

“He rode off in the direction of Riverwood”, Skulvar was still watching her, “The word on the road is that he’s drowning himself in ale there in the Sleeping Giant.”

“Thank you, Skulvar”, she patted Allie a final time.

“Tell him that I still have his saddle and his stuff here when you go see him”, the stable-master said, “It’s taking up room.”

Letting her hair fall into her face, Ylva nodded. She didn’t plan on seeking him out. So, what if he was drowning himself in alcohol? He had left _her,_ not the other way around. Yet, she couldn’t deny that her heart was aching for him.

Her feet had already begun to move up the so familiar way up to the city gates. As the guards saw her, the news of her arrival spread like a wildfire. By the time she reached the gate, the gate had been opened wide. A crowd had formed on the other side, all waiting for her arrival.

“Welcome home, Ylva!”, they cheered, “Welcome home, Hero of Skyrim!”

Ylva was close to tears. Seeing all the citizens of Whiterun, her friends for long years, safe and healthy, warmed her heart. Yes, those were the people she had fought for. Those were the people she had wanted to protect. Children weaseled through the crowd. Lars Battle-Born stormed towards her, hugging her midriff.

“Welcome back!”, he said, “You are my hero!”

Smiling, she patted the blond-haired boy. Ever since she had protected him from Braith, he had looked up to her.

“Thank you for the warm welcome”, Ylva told the boy and the crowd, “I’m glad to see you all alive and well.”

“We should say that about you!”, Adrianne smirked, leaning against one of the columns of her shop as usual, “We didn’t go fly off on a dragon after all!”

“They say you did it, Ylva!”, Lars beamed, “That you killed Alduin!”

“Word spreads fast I see”, she nodded, “Yes, but I had help. The heroes that first battled Alduin helped me bring him down.”

“That is soo awesome!”, the boy’s eyes couldn’t possibly get any larger, “Tell me more!”

“Lars!”, Idolaf, his father called out, “I’m sure she has other things to do right now.”

“It’s alright, Idolaf”, Ylva laughed, then turned to the boy, “Lars, I promise I’ll tell you all. But now I really want to go see my family. They sure have missed me too.”

“Aw”, Lars pouted but released her nonetheless.

The crowd opened a path for her. The townspeople thanked her with kind words and pats on the shoulder as she walked past them. It felt strange to her. Not even when she was named Harbinger had she received this much attention. Would this always be like this from now on? Suddenly she yearned for the solitude of the Lodge, but it was too late to go there. No, her family deserved to know she was alive and that she would now be around more often.

Climbing the stairs, her heart was pounding. Please, let them welcome her like they always had. Please let her family remain the same around her. When she reached the door, she placed a hand against it, closing her eyes and sighed. There was only one way to find out.

The warmth of the great hall was a stark contrast to the cold air of Sun’s Dusk. Before she even could voice “Hello”, she found herself lifted off her feet.

“Ylva!”, her brother’s voice was full of excitement.

“Farkas! You’re choking me!”, she giggled.

“Sis, you made it back!”, Farkas had no intention of letting her go. The tightness in her chest was replaced by a warm feeling. How could she have doubted them? Of course, they’d still treat her the same. Leaning into the hug, she wrapped her own arms around her brother.

“Yes, I’m back”, she whispered silently. A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her.

“You’re home now, sis”, her brother stroked her back, sensing her tension, “It’s all good now.”

For a moment she clung to her brother, breathing in his familiar scent and relaxing. She didn’t have to keep up the mask anymore, within the walls of Jorrvaskr, she was accepted for who she was.

“Look who’s returned!”, another voice called out from the corner of the room.

Looking up, she saw Vilkas and Aela smiling back at them.

“Brother, sister!”, she let go of Farkas to give both of her Shield-Siblings a warm hug.

Noticing that they were the only ones in the great room except for Tilma cleaning in a corner, she asked them: “Where are the whelps?”

“They are out on jobs, each as a pair”, Farkas smiled proudly, “Just some small things like clearing out a wolf den or settling some trouble with people.”

“Ah, that’s good”, Ylva nodded, “Makes people see us more.”

“We are overwhelmed with requests lately”, Vilkas scratched his head, “Anything from bandits to killing dragons.”

“Who can blame them?”, Aela shrugged, “The times are troubled and since you are the Dragonborn, people come to us asking for help.”

“Not just the Dragonborn – the Dragonslayer!”, Farkas patted her back encouragingly.

“Don’t ever say that name around me”, Ylva shuddered.

“We won’t”, Vilkas saw her discomfort and understood, “But tell us, what was it like? And where did you go?”

Looking from one face to the other, all eager to hear her tale, she let out a long sigh.

“The dragon we caught in Dragonsreach – Odahviing – he brought me to a temple high up in the mountains”, she started, rubbing her neck, “Skuldafn it is called….”

 

For the rest of the day, Ylva told them of everything that has happened to her. How they trapped Odahviing and how she flew off with him. The long fight through Skuldafn, the new shout she learned, the doorway to Sovngarde. The strange mist ensnaring the souls within, the fight with Tsun and the meeting with Ysgramor and the Tongues. Farkas had tears sparkling in his eyes as she told him that she met her father and Kodlak again and that both of them were fine. However, she could not bring herself to tell them about Bishop abandoning her or the child growing in her. At least not until she had confronted Danica about it. If she was already several weeks in, then she must have been pregnant during the siege on Whiterun. The healer must have known when she was healing her.

When evening came, the whelps returned from their jobs. Weary but happy to see their Harbinger back, they all eagerly shared about their adventures of the day. Ylva listened with a mug of ale in her hands that she barely touched.

“Sister”, Farkas placed a hand on her arm, making her turn to him, “What is troubling you?”

“What do you mean, brother?”, she managed a smile.

“Ylva”, his ice-blue eyes were seeing right through her mask, “You have barely touched your drink or your food. Nor did you take to your lute. Something is bothering you.”

She bit her lip. Was it that obvious?

“Is it because of your ranger?”, her brother pressed on, “We know he left the city in a frenzy when you flew off with that dragon.”

“Farkas”, she shook her head, “Please, let us not talk about this now. Let us enjoy this evening together.”

“Alright”, he eyed her, “We will talk about it when you are ready.”

“Thank you, brother”, this time her smile was honest.

 

Soft music and the scent of flowers filled the temple of Kynareth. There were only a few wounded soldiers in the temple. Good, maybe the war had come to a halt after the Stormcloaks had lost. Hope might be candled at last. Danica was tending to one of the guards that had helped in the capture of Odahviing. While everything had been going better than they had hoped, some of the brave men and women had suffered wounds from the dragon’s flame.

“Thane!”, the guard called out as he saw her approaching.

“Glad to see you mending well”, Ylva greeted him, “In the care of Danica and the blessing of Kyne with you, I had no doubts.”

“What high visitor in the temple”, Danica smiled, “What do I owe the honor, Ylva?”

“I need to speak to you”, Ylva said.

“Ah, I was wondering if that might be the case”, the priestess stood up, smiling to the guard, “I won’t be gone long.”

Danica signaled her to follow and led her to her private chambers.

“Did you know I was with child?”, Ylva came straight to the point, once she was sure no one but the priestess could hear her.

“You still are then?”, Danica smiled warmly, “The winds of the Kynareth have guided and protected you both.”

“So that’s a yes”, Ylva crossed her arms in front of her chest, “How could you not tell me?”

“You carry the burden of fate on your shoulders. I did not want to burden you further”, the priestess replied, “And in all honesty, I was afraid of what you would do if you knew. Would you have gone to battle Alduin if you knew? That was selfish of me. Hate me for that, if you will.”

Danica met her gaze directly: “Believe me when I say this: I am truly happy that you both are still alive and well.”

“Thank you for your honesty”, Ylva turned her gaze away, “I understand your reason. I can’t say what I would have done if I had known.”

“And what will you do now?”, the priestess asked.

“I don’t know”, Ylva admitted, “I just know I have had enough fighting and war.”

“What about your ranger?”, the priestess continued, “Don’t you want to find him? A child should have both its parents.”

“Even if I want it or not”, she replied, “Death has always surrounded me. I’ve nearly lost him once to death and now I’ve lost him to do what only I could do. No, I can’t risk it again.”

“You’ve done what you had to do”, the older woman said, “Now allow yourself the happiness that all men and mer want. Rest, take care of yourself. For your own sake as much as your child’s.”

 

Walking back over to Jorrvaskr, Ylva stopped to look at the Gildergreen. Despite the cold air of Sun’s Dusk slowly fading into Evening Star, it was still blossoming, the pink petals shaking as the wind blew through it. Reaching out she rested a hand on the bark, closing her eyes. _What should I do?,_ she sighed, _Should I go find him? Wasn’t it better if he didn’t know?_ Doubt was eating at her. Her heart yearned for him. No, she couldn’t really be angry for him. Maybe the gods themselves had led him to walk away? She had begged them to protect him after all. Who knows if he would have survived the fight?

With mixed feelings, she continued towards the mead hall. The morning training of the whelps was already over and she knew that some of them would be out on more jobs. On a whim, she walked around the hall to the courtyard. A cold wind blew into her face and she shuddered, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck.

“How was your visit to the temple?”, Farkas saw her approach as he was cleaning his blade, leaning against the rocks close to the archery targets.

“How do you know that I’ve been there?”, Ylva asked surprised.

“I saw you go in earlier”, her brother explained, “Did you go see Danica? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m not sick”, she shook her head, slightly avoiding his gaze.

“Come now, sis”, Farkas patted the ground next to him, “There’s no one here now. So why don’t you tell me what’s eating at you?”

He wasn’t going to let her walk away from it this time, that was certain. Sighing, she came over and dropped down next to her brother. Farkas put his sword to the other side, putting an arm around her shoulders. Ylva closed her eyes, resting her head on his shoulder. The metal plates of his armor emitted a faint heat, despite the cold that surrounded them both. He had a calm strength that she always loved about him. No doubt he would be a great father one day, he certainly wouldn’t have trouble finding a wife if he really wanted to. What about Bishop? Would he be a good father one day? Or would he run even further away once he knew?

“Sis, your gnawing your lip”, Farkas pointed out, “Is it really so hard to tell your brother what’s going on?”

“I’m scared, brother”, she admitted.

“You, scared? You went up against Alduin! What would you be scared about?”, her brother snorted.

“I’m scared of the future”, she found it difficult to find the right words. Well, how could she when she was still unsure about her own feelings?

“After I defeated Alduin, I felt empty. I mean, I did what I was born to do, what would I do from now on? What is my purpose now, especially since Bishop abandoned me?”, regardless of how much she understood him, it still felt like a dagger being shoved into her chest when she remembered it.

“Yeah, we heard what happened. You know how the people are, they all love to gossip”, he shrugged, “You know I didn’t really like the guy when you first brought him around. I thought he was only after your body. He had so many chances to go and leave you, yet he stayed by your side. When he followed us to Ysgramor’s tomb to find you, he really showed us that he cared. I think he got really scared. I mean, you flew off on a dragon that moments before was trying to kill you. It’s hard for me to blame him for that.”

That made her giggle. Yes, it all sounded like she really had lost her mind.

“Ah, a smile”, Farkas teased, “I was wondering if the great hero was still capable of that.”

“Don’t call me that”, she rolled her eyes, “I’m not much different than you are.”

“Says the woman that eats dragon souls for breakfast”, he laughed.

“I never asked for any of that”, she cuffed him in the ribs, “I was born with this.”

“I know”, his face softened, “And we are all lucky that it was you and not someone else. Who knows? They could have just as easily run from all this.”

“It was tempting”, she admitted, “Running form it all, I mean. Now it’s over for the most part.”

“So, what are you so afraid of then? Yes, there are still dragons about and all, but there’s no End of the World to be feared, right?”

“I’m pregnant”, she held her breath in anticipation.

“You are WHAT?”, Farkas stared at her wide-eyed.

“I’m pregnant”, she repeated, “With Bishop’s child.”

“Since when?”, he managed to ask, his mouth still hanging open.

“About two months?”, she really didn’t know for sure.

“So you were already pregnant when you fought in the siege?”, Farkas shook his head, “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I didn’t know either!”, she explained, “I only found out about it when they healed me after the fight with Alduin.”

“By the gods, Ylva”, Farkas let a hand ran over his face, “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around that too”, she quickly added.

“Well, I guess it was just a matter of time”, he shook his head, “You two were constantly jumping another like two wolves in heat.”

“Farkas!”, she looked at him her face burning red.

“You can’t deny that sister”, he grinned at her, “You know it’s true.”

She just glared at him before settling back against his chest.

“I am happy for you though”, he continued, “You’ll be a great mother.”

Ylva put a hand on her belly, hoping that her brother was right.

“I’m going to try”, she said.

“And Bishop could be a decent father”, he continued, “With as protective as he is with you, I bet he will be the same for your child.”

“I’m not sure if I should tell him”, Ylva muttered.

“You should”, Farkas answered quickly, “He deserves to know.”

“And what if he doesn’t want it?”, she was anxious for his reply.

“Then he will get a visit from Vilkas, Aela and me that he won’t easily forget”, her brother’s tone didn’t imply that he was jesting.

“Thank you, Farkas”, she leaned back and closed her eyes, thanking the gods that she had a brother like him.

 


	72. Hungover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has the ranger been up to in all this time?

Waking from a blur, he felt something tearing at his leg. Bishop tried pushing it away, only earning him a loud growl from his wolf.

“Come on, fuck off”, the ranger turned around, “It's too early.”

Karnwyr huffed and whined, begging for his fur-less brother's attention.

“Ugh, what do you want, you mutt?”, he groaned, rubbing his face.

The wolf whined again. He needed to be let out, and quickly at that. 

“Fine!”, Bishop threw his legs off the bed and sat up. The headache that nearly split his brain open made him regret that instantly. Shit. How much did he drink yesterday? He couldn't really remember. Mumbling something about his gold running out, he let his blurry gaze drift over the shambles that was his room.  His stuff was scattered everywhere. If Ylva would see that, she'd be mad at him for making such a mess. Fuck, he didn't want to think about her. His chest felt tight with regret at leaving and his heart ached for her every sane moment he had.

Karnwyr's whining and scratching at the door thankfully gave him a distraction.

“Yeah, yeah!”, the ranger shushed the wolf, “I'm on my fucking way.”

On wonky legs he stepped over the mess, slipping into his armor and searching for his boots. One he had kicked under the chair stuffed in the corner. The other sat on top of the small table. As he lifted it, some liquid slushed over the boot.  What in Oblivion was that? Reluctantly he sniffed at the liquid. Thank the gods – it wasn't what he had feared. No, it was just some ale his drunken ass must have poured in there.  Well, what better way to cure a hangover than another drink? He emptied the boot, regardless of the slight note of smelly feet that did nothing to improve the already bad taste of the stale ale. Shuddering as he put the boot down, he put it on and opened the door.

The wolf sprinted out of the room as soon as the way was clear. With taking a few steps into the inn, Bishop felt that he too needed to find some relief, or the remaining ale wasn't the only thing that his feet would soak in.

The cold air outside helped not only to make him awake, but it also did wonders for the hangover. Or was that the boot -ale already working? Whatever the case, once both the ranger and his wolf had relieved themselves, Bishop almost felt like a human being again. If it weren't for the dark thoughts instantly filling his mind, he might have almost enjoyed the feeling. But with his mind clear of the comforting layer of alcohol, she filled his mind. Ylva. The look in her eyes as he had turned away haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. She was always with him – her wonderful smell, her smile, her tears – everything. How could he have left her standing there? How could he leave the woman he loved to go against that...that monster alone? Alduin was the most fearsome creature he had ever come across. 

And yet – despite all odds – Ylva had defeated that thing. Now she was the Dragonslayer, Hero of Skyrim. Did she even need him to tag along? No, she didn't. He would always slow her down. What was he but a shitty self-loathing bastard?

Little icy drops made him jolt. It was starting to rain. Cursing, he called for Karnwyr and went back to the inn. Distracted by the cold, he did not notice the lone rider approaching from Whiterun.

Inside, he nearly collided with Tallia, the new waitress.

“Careful there handsome”, she giggled.

Being that close to her, she was almost pretty. Not as pretty as Ylva, but maybe that was just what he needed? Shaking his head, he stepped away. No, he wasn't drunk enough to even consider this.

Walking up to the bar, he flopped on a chair.

“Ah, is the ranger finally awake again?”, Ognar was eyeing him.

“It's not that late”, Bishop grumbled, “So what do you want?”

"I want you to get off your ass and go to your pretty lass again", the Nord put down the mug he was polishing, "You mopping around here is driving away my patrons. Or you make up by drinking more – if you still have the coin for that, that is."

Sticking a hand in his pocket, the ranger pulled out some coins and dropped them on the counter just as the door to the inn was pushed open and a gust of cold air came in.

"Shut up and bring me another round Ognar", the ranger groaned, "And keep them coming. I'm planning on drinking this place dry tonight."

“A surprise you didn't already do that”, someone called with a sharp tone to her voice.

“What the?”, Bishop recognized the voice. It had weaseled itself into his brain over months of constantly hearing it. Not just his brain though, it has reached the depths of his heart, making him feel something he had thought he wasn't even capable of feeling anymore.

Turning around, his eyes only validated what his ears had already told him. Yes, it was her. Ylva. His light, his love. Why had she come? What did she want from him? He didn’t deserve her, clearly, she must have realized that?

“Well, well. Look who's decided to waltz back”, he blabbered before he could bite his tongue, “Don't you have a throne or some shit now?”

He knew that he had no right to snap at her like that. If anything, she had every right to be furious at him. He was nothing but low scum, a coward running away when she needed him most. No, he couldn’t compare to her.

“You know, back when we were EQUALS”, he yelled, not able to control himself, “Sure, you had a freaky voice, but that was it. Now you've saved the world! So, who in OBLIVION are you now?”

“Who am I? WHO AM I?”, her voice trembled with anger, “You of all people should know the answer to that! I'm someone who's fucking pissed at you for leaving. But you know what? I understood it. What I did was insane. Only, it had to be done. And I did it. Now it's over.”

“How can you just walk in here like nothing happened? You killed Alduin, proved to everyone that you are a hero, a fucking goddess. So, what do you want from me?”, he got up from his chair and took a step towards her. Karnwyr jumped between them, guarding Ylva and growling at him.   

“I'm alive and here”, she crossed her arms in front of her chest, “Isn't that enough for you?”

“Is it enough for _you_?”, he gave the question right back, “Being everyone's hero? No, you'll just run off again as soon as some idiot asks you. I am not putting up with that shit again.”

Couldn't she tell that he was scared? Scared that she would run off to the next dangerous adventure? Facing an army or killing the next dragon? Everywhere she went, she was throwing herself in danger.

“Fine!”, she yelled, “Stay here and drink yourself stupid. I'm leaving.”

She turned around and headed for the door. Bishop froze inside. Fuck. No. She had come for _him,_ had given him another chance. And he went ahead to fuck it up. If she’d leave now, he would never see her again. No, he couldn’t let that happen. Regardless of how much it tore his heart out to see in danger, not having her in his life would be much worse. Letting her walk out of his door would be the same as killing himself.

 “Ladyship! Wait!”, he called after her.

“Oh, are you not done yet?”, she turned around glaring at him. Such spirit, even in anger. By the gods, it was unreal how much he loved her.

“Look”, with a huge effort, he pushed the anger out of his voice, “I just didn't want you to die on my watch, alright?”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to continue.

"I can do many things, but save you from the World Eater isn't one of them", Bishop looked down, too ashamed to look at her or have her see the fear in his eyes, "If you died...I would have found a way to bring you back just so I could kill you again myself for being so godsdamn stubborn."

He felt the heat of shame rise in his face. Hearing his thoughts out loud made him realize just how ridiculous they were. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. Damn, he hated himself for being so godsdamn weak. Ylva’s eyes rested on him, he could feel it. Why wasn’t she saying anything? Clenching his teeth to force the tears back down, he waited.

 “You know, I still need my ranger”, she finally replied, her voice soft and warm, “Now more than ever.”

“Since you asked so nicely”, he looked up, unable to stop the grin spreading over his face, “Bah, fine. I'm with you. You won't have to worry about your backside anymore.”

Clearing his throat, he added: “I... just come here, will you?”

He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Yes, she was no ghost, she was alive. And she was with him again. The chaos of emotions within him began to settle and a single tear rolled down his cheek. Hiding his face, he burrowed his nose in her auburn hair, breathing in the wonderful smell of lavender. If he could, he’d hold her like this forever.

“By the gods”, Ylva gasped, trying to push him away, “Bishop, you reek!”

“You'll get used to it again”, he chuckled, holding her even tighter, “I'll just rub myself all over you.”

“Don't you dare!”, she giggled, “Not until you've showered.”

“There”, he let her go, “Enough of the mushy feeling crap.  Between now and then I plan on giving you a damn good reason to never leave my side, darling.”

“Oh, believe me”, she grinned, “You already did.”

Blinking several times, he tried to connect the dots, but the remainders of his hangover slowed his thinking down.

“Bish”, she bit her lip as a blush tinted her cheeks, “I'm pregnant – with your child.”

“Oh”, he said weakly as his legs cave in.

 

“Wake up! Wake up you idiot!”, Ylva shook the ranger. Damn, had he collapsed? It couldn't have been that much to drink yesterday, could it?

“Fuck”, he groaned, rubbing his head.

“Finally! You idiot! Why did you pass out like that?”, her tone was sharp, but relief began to smooth the worried wrinkles on her forehead, “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I scared _you_?”, he starred at her, “Princess, please tell me that you were pulling my leg.”

"Do I look like I am joking?", anger flashed in her eyes, "Fuck Bish, I would not joke about shit like that. I carry your child. So yes, I need you. We _both_ need you!"

“But...when?”, his mind was still refusing to understand, “How?”

“Oh, you damn well know _how_!”, she got up, clearly upset with him, “Please, can you be more serious about this?”

Damn. She was serious. Fuck, what should he do now? He had never wanted to become a father, not with the bastard that his old man was. Could he even be someone's father without fucking up just as badly? Ylva was gnawing her lip, something she often did when she was nervous or scared. Looking at her, warmth spread through his chest. If he would be a father, that meant that she would be a mother too. The image of her cradling his child in her arms rose in the back of his mind. The yearning he had felt in Windhelm came back. No, this wasn't just a daydream anymore, this was about to come true. He could have that; he could have her at his side and a family. A family that wasn't all about killing one another. A family filled with love instead of hatred.

“Are you angry?”, Ylva asked carefully.

“Angry?”, he nearly laughed as he scrambled to his feet, “How could I be angry at you? If anything, I should have been more careful. No, I'm not angry.”

Swiftly, he pulled her close and kissed her. Tasting her soft and sweet lips, he felt light-headed again, but this time he wasn't about to pass out.

“I love you”, he whispered as their lips parted, “I will protect you and our child with everything I have.”

“I love you too”, she answered, “But I'm scared.”

"Princess", he looked into her hazel eyes, "You'll be a wonderful mother. And I'll never leave your side ever again.”

“I will kill you if you ever do that again”, she sniffled, her eyes shimmering wet, “I fucking missed you.”

“And I missed you”, he hugged her tightly again.

“Come, let’s go home”, Ylva kissed his cheek.

 

Warm water ran over his body, washing away filth and misery of the last days. Closing his eyes, he stayed still, enjoying the soothing feeling of the stream from the shower. After days of self-loathing, he almost felt like a human being again. He knew that it wasn't just the shower that made him feel that way. Returning to the Lodge, finally being able to be with the woman he loved, that was worth far more than simply cleaning up. No matter what he felt before, he had found a true home – a place he felt he belonged.

Karnwyr had also been thrilled to return. Like a puppy he had been rolling around in the grass, grinning like an idiot. Shaking his head, Bishop smiled. He could hardly blame him. The Sleeping Giant had been a prison for his furry brother.

As the water stream died down, Bishop let a hand ran through his hair, shaking the water from it. It had become long over the last months. Not just that – he hasn't bothered to shave a single time since that morning when they went to trap a dragon. There was no looking glass anywhere in the bathhouse. He needed to ask Ylva about that later.

Returning to the Lodge, he found Ylva sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace immersed in a book. A hand rested on her belly as if she wanted to protect the little life growing there. Their child. Bishop still couldn't believe it. He was to become a father? Seeing her like this though, he couldn't be more excited about it. Stepping behind her, he gently tugged her hair over her shoulder and began massaging her neck. 

“Hmm”, she leaned back against him, smiling, “That's nice.”

“How are you feeling, princess?”, he asked, working on a particularly stubborn knot.

“A lot better with you here with me”, she confessed.

“Not sick or anything?”, he continued.

“Why would I...oh”, she looked up at him, “No, the baby has been kind to me today. How do you feel now, after your shower?”

“Like a human being again”, he leaned forward and kissed the crown of her head, “Though I might need to shave and get a haircut.”

Ylva looked at him for a moment.

"You know, I like that beard on you. And you don't need your hair cut that badly either. Gives you a very smug look", she winked. 

“Doesn't the beard scratch you?”, he leaned down and kissed her cheek to demonstrate.

“It tickles a little”, she giggled, “I like that.”

“So, you have something for men with beards”, he teased.

“I have something for _you_ with a beard”, she clarified, “You don't have to shave it for my sake. If you don't like it, then shave it off.”

“Well, if my ladyship likes it, I'll keep it”, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. Enjoying her warmth and the softness of her body against his, he kissed her neck. Humming, Ylva let her fingers rake through his damp hair. Suddenly she winched.

“Ouch”, she let a hand run down to her belly, “That stung.”

“You OK?”, Bishop was instantly worried.

“Yeah”, she nodded, “Danica said something about it sometimes hurting. She said that the baby needs room so it sometimes stings.”

Not being able to resist, the ranger let his hands move down to her stomach.

“How far along are you?”, he asked.

“About two months”, she placed her hand over his, lacing her fingers through his.

“Oh wow”, he breathed, “What happened to ‘knowing your dangerous days’?”

Hazel eyes glared at him.

“Well _excuse me_ for not keeping track of this in all this madness”, she snapped, “It’s not like _you_ were being very careful either.”

“I can’t argue with that”, he admitted, kissing her neck. Whenever his hunger for her took over, he couldn’t stop himself. Feeling her writhe beneath him, her slick depths wrapped around him, he lost control. Just thinking about it, caused a familiar twitch in his lower regions.

In an attempt to distract himself, he asked: “When did you find out?”

“After the battle in Sovngarde”, she told him, “When they healed my wounds, they found out that I was with child.”

“So, you didn’t know then”, he was relieved, knowing that she hadn’t willingly put herself and their child in danger.

“Hell, if I’d known I wouldn’t even have dared to trap Odahviing”, she exclaimed, “Nor even consider fighting Alduin!”

Her hands tightened their grip of his and on her belly. Warmth spread through him at her words. It didn’t matter if the child had been an accident, she’d protect it with all her might. And what about him? There was no doubt in his heart. This was _his_ child. He would _not_ abandon it.

“No running off to new dangers then?”, he kissed her cheek.

“Are you kidding?”, she slightly shook her head, “Of course not! I don’t want to risk losing it. I want to see this child born and grow up healthy.”

Moving around to face her, he crouched down and softly stroked her belly.

“I’ll be here for the both of you”, he promised, “I will protect you both with my life and take care of you as best as I can.”

“Thank you, Bish. I’m happy to have you with me”, she smiled warmly.

Something that has been occupying his mind for quite some time came back to him at that moment. Should he tell her?

“Bish?”, she asked, probably having noticed the look on his face.

To Oblivion with it, he just needed to get it out.

“I’ve been thinking of it for a while”, he confessed, “Ever since the battle at Whiterun.”

“What is it?”, she was watching him with anxious curiosity.

“We’ve been traveling together for some time now”, he sighed, “It’s no surprise that you’ve managed to get under my skin deep enough for me to start actually caring about you. You probably know me better than anyone still living.”

He shifted, gathering both her hands in his.

 “I want you in my life – not just like a traveling companion, or a pretty face warming my bedroll on a cold night”, before he continued, he took a deep breath, “I want you to _be_ my life.”

“Oh Bish!”, her eyes were shimmering wet with tears, “That’s the sweetest thing you ever said!”

“Don’t make fun of me now, princess”, he frowned.

“I wouldn’t dare”, she smiled again, blinding him with the joy and love that shone from her eyes, “If you haven’t realized already, I want you by my side. I can’t live without my ranger.”

Ylva cupped his face and kissed him. Tasting her sweet lips on his own and the echo of her words in his mind made a wave of joy wash over him. He felt giddy like he had never felt before. How lucky could a man be? Been born to a life of misery and pain, taking to banditry to survive, being treated like garbage everywhere he went only to stumble upon her. She accepted him for who he was, showed him trust again. Now he knew what it meant to be truly loved.

As their lips parted, he leaned his forehead against hers and whispered: “Mine.”


	73. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited at last, Bishop and Ylva are eager to enjoy a few quiet days. Until a courier arrives...

Yawning, Ylva stretched in her bed. It had been ages since she’s gotten a good night’s sleep. Turning around, she felt something large and warm next to her. Not something – someone. Bishop. The ranger was laying on his back, softly snoring. Last night, they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, talking. A smile spread over her face and she curled up next to him, resting her cheek on his chest. His heart was beating in a calm and steady rhythm, proof that he yet was deep in slumber. Breathing in his scent, feeling his warmth on her body, she felt incredibly safe.

Farkas was right. It had been the right thing to seek him out. Seeing how miserable he had been yesterday had been a bitter potion to swallow. Yes, she had felt hurt by his words and had been angry. More than that, she had felt guilty for not seeking him out sooner. He had been terrified for her the whole time and regretted leaving her. After the initial shock, he took the news that he was to become a father quite well. There was no doubt that he’d bee there for his child.

Remembering what he said when he came back from his shower made her almost chuckle. Even after both of them confessing their love, he still hadn’t realized that she hadn’t thought of him as anything else as the love in her life. No, he needed to hear that her heart belonged to him only to truly believe it.

“What are you snickering about?”, Bishop sleepily grumbled, placing a hand on her back.

“Oh, you’re awake?”, she looked up. His eyes were barely open, watching her from sleep drowsy slits.

“Sorry if I woke you up”, she said in a low voice.

“It’s fine”, he stretched, “So, will you tell me what was so funny?”

“You know, for the best tracker of Skyrim, you are sometimes really bad at reading signs”, she grinned playfully, resting her chin on the back of her hand.

“What do you mean? I’m a damn good tracker”, he grumbled.

“Yet you still needed to hear that I was yours”, she teased, “Even though I’ve already told you that I love you.”

“So _that’s_ what you’re getting at”, Bishop turned around so he was lying on top of her, “You little minx.”

“Getting all defensive over that?”, she playfully brushed her nose against his.

“That’s what I get for being serious with you?”, he seemed a little angry, “You making fun of me?”

“No”, she gently caressed his cheek with her hand, “I think it was very sweet."

“I meant it, princess”, he locked his amber eyes with her, “I want you to be my life.”

“I love you, Bish”, she whispered.

“And I love you”, a quick smile flashed over his features before his lips met hers.

“So”, he murmured as he pulled back a little, “Is there anything you want to do today?”

“Nothing urgent”, she replied.

“Oh? Does that mean the hero of Skyrim is taking a break?”, he mocked.

“Who is getting cocky now?”, she pouted playfully.

“I’m just making sure that I truly have you all to myself”, he leaned down to steal another kiss.

“It’s just you, me and Karnwyr”, she whispered, “So what do you want to do today?”

“Oh, I have a few things in mind”, a devilish smile spread over his face.

 

A snowstorm was blowing around the lodge as Bishop let Karnwyr out. The icy wind blowing into his face made him shudder, despite his Nord heritage. Adjusting his coat and pulling the hood further down to cover his face, he observed his furry brother. The wolf was sniffing around, trying to find a spot to relieve himself. Even with his thick coat of fur, he was eager to get inside to lay close to the hearth again.

Suddenly, Karnwyr sat down and his ears perked up. Frowning, Bishop followed the wolf’s gaze. Someone was coming towards the house. Covered in a thick coat and a layer of snow, it was impossible to identify the arrival. Bishop’s hand darted to his dagger. He watched the hooded figure carefully as it crossed the small wooden bridge across the White River.

“Who comes?”, he yelled, as the figure was close enough to hear him over the storm.

“A courier. I have a letter to the Dragonborn!”, the muffled voice of a man reached him, “Is she here?”

“What does it matter to you?”, Bishop replied.

“I was told to deliver it to her personally. The Companions told me I may find her here”, the courier answered. He had now reached the wooden walkway and Bishop could see him more clearly. The courier appeared to be a young Nord, barely grown into manhood. Apart from a steel mace hanging from his belt, he didn’t seem to carry any weapons. Clicking his tongue, the ranger called for Karnwyr, that quickly came rushing towards him.

“Who sent you?”, he asked the young man.

“She didn’t tell me her name, but she came to me in Old Hroldan.”, the courier shook the snow off his shoulders, “Please, tell me if I can find the Dragonborn here? If not, where can I find her?”

The courier seemed frightened and in a hurry. That “she” must have scared him and the ranger already had a suspicion who that person was.

“You can leave the letter with me”, Bishop held out his hand.

“No, I was told to give it to her directly”, the courier shook his head, “She insisted on that.”

“That she…”, the ranger locked eyes with the young man, “Was it an older Breton woman with blond hair and scars on the left side of her face?”

“Yes”, the courier nodded, “So can you please tell me where to find the Dragonborn?”

 _Delphine_. Bishop sighed. What did the old hag want this time?

“You can come in, but don’t get too comfortable”, he turned and opened the door.

“Thank you”, the courier hastened to come into the warmth.

 

“Bish, is that you?”, Ylva called from the hearth in the study. 

“Yes, princess. I’m not alone though, we have a visitor”, he replied, “A courier from that crazy-ass bitch.”

“Urgh. What on Nirn does she want?”, Ylva groaned.

She met them in the front hall. When she saw the young man, the irritation on her face was replaced by pity.

“By the gods, how long have you been out there in the snow?”, she asked the young man.

“She told me it was urgent and I should not stray. If I would, she said she’d come to find me and I would regret it”, the courier was shaking, and possibly not just from the cold.

“Seems she hasn’t changed much”, Ylva shook her head, “Alright. So where is that letter you got for me.”

“Are you the Dragonborn then?”, the courier asked.

“I am”, she answered, “So hand me that letter, or did she want you to get proof that it’s me?”

“Aye”, the Nord nodded.

“Paranoid as always”, Ylva rolled her eyes. After a short look around she went to a chest and pulled out the party hat that Delphine had insisted she wear in the Thalmor Embassy and something black and shiny.

“Bring her that”, she told the courier, “And if she doesn’t wrestle the scale from you, keep it as payment. I’m sure she didn’t pay you.”

“What is this?”, the man inspected the black thing.

“That, my lad, is a scale from Alduin himself”, Ylva crossed her arms, “Proof enough, wouldn’t you say? So, now give me that letter and you can warm up at the fire upstairs in the kitchen.”

“A scale from the World-Eater?”, the young Nord’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull in astonishment, “That is proof enough. Thank you, Dragonborn.”

 Quickly, he shuffled through his bags and handed her the letter in return. With a hand gesture, Ylva dismissed him. Giving Bishop a worried glance, she moved back into the study.

Hanging his coat by the door and signaling Karnwyr to keep an eye on the courier, he followed her.

“What does it say?”, he placed his hands on the back of her chair.

“Read for yourself”, she said as she handed him the letter.

 

_Dragonborn,_

_We congratulate you on your victory against Alduin. However, this is but the beginning of the fight against the dragons. Many more roam the skies of Skyrim._

_Among them are the generals of Alduin. They have to pay for their crimes against humanity and need to be slain._

_We found out about Paarthurnax._

_The Greybeards have been protecting him all these years, but he needs to die. Once, he was the right hand of Alduin. He helped him enslave our ancestors. His betrayal in the Dragon War has not made him better, it makes him worse. It is too dangerous to let him live._

_The Blades have been hunting him for centuries. Until he is dead, our oath as Blades prevents us from helping you any further._

_We await word of your success soon._

_D_

 

“They want you to kill Paarthurnax?”, Bishop couldn’t believe what he was reading. Then again, Delphine always had been a madwoman.

“Yes”, Ylva was now walking up and down the room.  Her brows were drawn together into a deep frown as she was thinking.

“You are not actually considering this, are you?”, Bishop felt an uneasiness in his stomach. She wouldn’t go, right? Not while pregnant with his child?

“To Oblivion, no!”, she turned around to him, shaking her head furiously.

“Even if I wasn’t…”, stopping there she gave him a meaningful glance, “I wouldn’t.”

“Thank the gods”, Bishop released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Ylva was pulling a chair over to the table in the corner and sat down.

“They want a word from me? They can have it”, she mumbled to herself, uncorking an inkpot and dipping her feather in it. Not able to contain his curiosity, he stepped behind her to read what she was writing.

 

_To the Blades,_

_Paarthurnax has atoned for his crimes. I will not lay a hand against him. The only dragons that need to fear me are those that will continue to prey on the people of Skyrim._

_If you dare to put matters into your own hands and either attack the Greybeards or any of those dragons that are loyal to me, it will be the last mistake you ever made._

_And should you conspire against me, know that you cannot best me. Many of the dragons have now sworn allegiance to me. If anything happens to those that I hold dear, you will pay for it thousand-fold._

_Ylva_

Folding up the letter, she let some wax drop onto it to seal it closed.

“That should be enough”, she nodded and pushed back the chair.

“If not, then that bitch is even crazier than I thought”, Bishop said. Ylva was scary enough in battle. But after her defeat of Alduin, she had grown even stronger. It was hard to imagine what she was capable of doing now. And what was that with dragons swearing allegiance to her? He had to ask her that later when that boy was gone.

Following her up the stairs, he observed her passing the letter, some coin and some food to the courier.

“Here, take this with you. I’m pretty sure she’s either waiting for you or will come to find you again once you return to your home”, she told him, “Take the coin as payment and also to get yourself a warm place to sleep this night. A new inn has opened in the outskirts of Whiterun, it lays on your way.”

“Thank you, Dragonborn”, the courier accepted everything eagerly.

“And tell her, that you’re under _my_ protection now. Whatever she has threatened you with, she’s no match against me”, Ylva continued.

“Oh, thank you! You truly are a hero”, the young Nord almost fell to his knees in gratitude.

“Better be on your way”, Bishop said, “The storm is only going to get stronger today. The journey to Whiterun won’t take long, but it’s better if it’s still light enough for you to see your way.”

“I will”, the courier gathered his things about him.

 

Standing at the window, Ylva was watching the young man disappear as he moved down the road to Whiterun. She hoped she hadn’t made a mistake. Then again, it was only Delphine and Esbern, two skilled but old fighters. Meanwhile, her and Bishop alone were no match for either of them. And now, with the strength of dragons at her call, was there really a reason to worry?

Strong arms wrapped themselves around her middle. Looking over her shoulder, she flashed a small smile at the ranger.

“I think I’m rubbing off on you”, Bishop rumbled softly kissing her forehead.

“Why?”, she closed her eyes and leaned against him.

“I don’t remember you being that threatening to people before”, he replied.

“Oh, have you forgotten what I did in Windhelm?”, she reminded him.

“How could I forget that?”, he chuckled, “You served them both well, that bastard bard and that asshole of a Jarl. Though I must say, if I was the one receiving that letter, I’d piss my pants.”

“You? The fearless ranger?”, now she had to giggle.

“Even the most fearless of rangers would piss themselves when being threatened by the woman that killed Alduin”, he admitted, “Though for a moment I was worried that you might go and fight Paarthurnax.”

“Paarthurnax may have done gruesome things in his past, but that doesn’t mean he will do them again. For thousands of years, he had lived in seclusion up there on the Throat of the World, not harming anyone. He helped the Tongues to defeat Alduin and has taught the Thu’um to generations of Greybeards”, she explained, “Why should I hold him accountable for things he has atoned for thousands of years? He changed, and that’s what counts.”

“And what was that with dragons swearing allegiance to you?”, the ranger continued.

“Oh yeah, that”, she shifted, suddenly feeling a tad uncomfortable. No one yet knew what happened on the Throat of the World, where she had found herself after Tsun had shouted her down. She was afraid. Afraid how people would start treating her once they knew. Already they treated her like she was some supernatural power. Would they start fearing her once they knew that she could call on dragons?

“You don’t want to tell me?”, Bishop’s low rumble swept past her ear.

“It’s not that”, she softly shook her head, “I’m…I’m just scared.”

“Listen, sweetness”, he told her, “Whatever it is you fear, you don’t have to. I love you and nothing is ever going to change that.”

“Do you really want to know?”, she looked up at him.

“Yes, I want to know everything that happened”, his amber eyes held her gaze unwaveringly, “Everything after I…I lost my head and ran from Dragonsreach.”

“Alright then”, she took a deep breath, “Odahviing carried me to Skuldafn, a temple high in the Velothi Mountains…”

 

Cold. That’s the first thing she felt when she came back to her senses. Then there was the sound of wings and then a sudden roar from many throats.

As Ylva opened her eyes and gazed around her, she found herself on the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax was there, as was Odahviing and many, many more dragons.

“Alduin Mahlaan!”, they roared. _Alduin has fallen._

“Sahrot Thur Qahnaraan!”, a single voice called out as a dragon swung into the air. _The mighty overlord is vanquished._

“Alduin Mahlaan!”, the others called again.

“Dovahkiin los ok Dovahkriid!”, another dragon roared. _The Dragonborn was his dragonslayer._

“Alduin Mahlaan!”

“Thu’umii los Nahlot!” – _His voice is silenced._

“Alduin Mahlaan!”

“Mu los Vomir!” – _We are free of his fealty._

She shuddered, if it was from the sudden cold or the power of the Thu’um around her, she didn’t know. Dovahkriid – dragonslayer. That name frightened her. Wasn’t she a dragon also? A dragon’s soul, forced into the body of a mortal?

Dragons landed around her. Should she feel threatened? Would they attack her? No, they wouldn’t. She had slain Alduin, the firstborn of Akatosh. Compared to him, they were lesser dragons.

“Thuri”, a few of the giant scaly heads bowed.

Looking around, she realized that the dragons were waiting for a response from her. With beating heart, she squared her shoulders.

“Hon zu’u, Zeymah!”, she announced, “Hi los Staadnau. Zu’u fen ni Bo wah Hi, rul Hi laan Drem. Nuz ahraan fin Kiir se Skyrim, zu’u fen kriin Hi.”

Looking around, she was sure, that her warning had been understood. All those that harmed the people of Skyrim would know that she would come for them. Those that only sought peace, she’d spare.

“Pruzah! Well-spoken, Dovahkiin”, Odahviing came forward, “Your Thu’um will be a warning to all those that still follow Alduin in their hearts. As for myself, you've proven your mastery twice over. Thuri, Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. Zu'u Odahviing. Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can.”

“Zaan ahrk mu fen Bo!”, the others that had gathered around her added.

A deep rumble went through the red dragon: “Seems like we have a new Thur.”

“I don’t want to be an overlord”, she quickly replied, “I only want to protect Skyrim and her people.”

“Think about it, Thuri. As Thur, you could protect your people even better”, the dragon’s yellow eyes were gleaming.

“No, this is not my path”, she shook her head, “I swore to protect the people, not rule them. And that’s what I’m going to continue to do, in the way I know best.”

“Vahzah Sil”, Paarthurnax cut in from his spot on the Word Wall, “You speak true. Though, sometimes it is not you that gets to choose. Grik los lein. Your people might push you to become their leader.”

Ylva took a deep breath. It was possible, but not something she ever wanted. Hopefully, no one would start such foolishness.

“What about you, Paarthurnax?”, she asked the grey dragon, “What will you do?”

“Many of the dovahhe are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may listen to the vahzen... rightness of my Thu'um. Together, we might live here in peace and find a way to truthfully serve our father Akatosh.”

“Akatosh will guide you, I’m sure”, she smiled at him.

 

“Wait”, Bishop rubbed the bridge of his nose, “You’re telling me that you now have an _army_ of dragons that will fight for you?”

“It’s not an army, my love”, she corrected him, “And they will not fight for me.”

They had moved down to the study while she told him of what had happened to her. The ranger had sat quietly and listened to her, but now he didn’t seem to be able to hold it in anymore.

“They come when you _call_ – that’s what they said, didn’t you just tell me that?”, he raved on, “How is that not fighting for you? To the fucking hells of Oblivion! Every army will run in terror when they see a bunch of dragons approaching them.”

“Bish, please”, she placed a hand on his thigh, “I know this is a lot to digest, but don’t let it get to your head!”

“What, not let it get it to me that you could single-handedly conquer Skyrim, if not Tamriel?”, he looked at her.

“Bishop”, she objected, “You know that’s not me. I don’t want that, I don’t want to be a Jarl or a queen or anything for that matter. What I want is to protect those I love.”

“Sorry, sweetness”, he sighed, “It’s…I feel powerless when I know you have that kind of power. How should I compete with that?”

“You don’t _have_ to compete”, she touched his face with her other hand, “Why would I ask you to compete with me? You are good just the way you are. I feel safe when I’m with you, safer than I ever felt. Not just because you are a good ranger, but because you treat me like a person. You are the only one besides my family that still does that. Without you, I feel like I’m missing a piece of myself.”

“Thanks”, he leaned in, letting his forehead touch her own, “I needed to hear that.”

“Let’s best forget that dragon calling, OK?”, she suggested, “I’m scared that what Paarthurnax told me could come true.”

“You mean people forcing you to become their leader, their queen?”, he asked.

“Yes”, she whispered, “I really don’t want that to happen. This here is the life I want. Right here with you.”

“I won’t tell anybody”, he promised, “Because I sure as hell don’t want to share you with a bunch of ungrateful bastards. You and I belong out here, away from courtyards and politics.”

“Exactly”, she nodded.


End file.
